


Another way

by Wortspiel, Zeitvergessen (Wortspiel)



Series: Timeless - Nobody is expendable [2]
Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: 'I wished on the Moon' has been stuck in my head for days - help?, Alternate Timelines, Am I getting better at writing Jiya?, Ancient Egypt, Attempt at Humor, Awkward Romance, Banter, Coffee, Dreams and Nightmares, Endgame Garcia Flynn/Lucy Preston, Even more coffee, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Falling In Love, Family Feels, Fix-It of Sorts, Garcia Flynn Deserves Better, Garcia Flynn Lives, Garcia Flynn/Lucy Preston-centric, I beforehand apologize for the one or other Disney reference, Jealousy, Lucy Preston's Journal, Mutual Pining, POV Garcia Flynn, POV Lucy Preston, Post-Season/Series 02, Protective Garcia Flynn, Rufus Carlin Lives, Sassy Garcia, Sick Character, Still bad at tagging, does anybody read this far?, garcy, mostly canon compliant - might contain minor changes to make this work, nobody is expendable, pre final movie, there might be a few
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-06
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:01:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 29,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24037783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wortspiel/pseuds/Wortspiel, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wortspiel/pseuds/Zeitvergessen
Summary: This is part 2 of the 'Nobody is expendable' series. I recommend you to read 'Filling empty pages' first to understand the further development of this story.Our heroes have survived Titanic and return from 1912. What are they up to next? Save Rufus of course!
Relationships: Garcia Flynn/Lucy Preston, Jessica Logan/Wyatt Logan, Rufus Carlin/Jiya, Wyatt Logan & Lucy Preston
Series: Timeless - Nobody is expendable [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1695091
Comments: 22
Kudos: 67





	1. Chapter 1

Lucy was awakened by a sound that reminded her vaguely of a large dog’s bark. Furrowing her brow in confusion, she blinked into the semi-darkness of her bunker room. _Nonsense._ She must have dreamt it.

Abandoning the thought, she dozed off once again.

The second time she recognized the thunderous sound as a loud sneeze followed by a quiet sniffle – and her eyes flew wide open.

She had to stop making a habit out of this. Falling asleep in his personal space wherever they went. Groaning silently, she propped herself up on one elbow.

“Sorry,” came Flynn’s gruff voice from behind her and he cleared his throat.

“Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“What time is it?”

A pause ensued as fabric shuffled.

“Early. Just after six.”

Another groan left Lucy as she willed herself into a sitting position and rubbed the back of her hand over her leaden lids.

“Too early.”

She had been a morning person once. When she still had been teaching. Always up with the birds, grabbing a book and a cup of coffee to pass the time until her first lectures. Now she was constantly tired but unable to rest, nonetheless. Except when, as it seemed, she was around _him_.

“Sorry for falling asleep on you.”

Flynn chuckled and the armchair creaked as he leaned back.

“As I said, I don’t mind. Besides, you’ve been quite productive last night. I looked over your notes.”

She nodded absentmindedly and followed his gaze to the floor. Sheets of paper were strewn all across it. Amidst the notes laid the journal. It had gained volume by now. All thanks to the masses of colored sticky notes poking out in countless angles from numerous pages.

“Wake me up next time,” she chided as she threw her legs over the edge of his cot into the crisp morning air.

“You’ll catch a cold if I keep stealing your bed.”

“Yes, mom.”

“Ugh, don’t.”

She made a face, grabbed the pillow and chucked it in his direction. With a thud, it hit him straight in his smug face.

She couldn’t help but laugh. “Sorry, seems you’re a bit slow today.”

“May be the result of sleep deprivation,” he countered and fluffed the pillow that had limply dropped into his lap.

“Get some then.”

Stretching her tired limbs, she stood and gestured to his cot.

“I need you awake and attentive in the meeting later.”

She dreaded it. That fruitless daily exchange of ideas. Four days had gone by since their return from 1912 and she had eventually devoted most of her time to bury her nose into the pages of her future diary.

Until now without much success. Whatever progress she made in finding a way to bring back Rufus always somehow lead her into a dead end. It was frustrating.

Suppressing a yawn, she kneeled and shuffled the notes around until she had neatly stacked them into a pile.

“I’ll- well, just sleep. I’ll meet you later.”

Catching his lopsided grin as she dropped the stacked papers onto his desk, she felt herself return the gesture and left him to his own devices.

***

The past few days had been busy but slow. No sign of Rittenhouse so far. No jump of the Mothership. The common guess was, that the organization was recovering, rearranging, now that Emma Whitmore and Jessica had taken over the lead. And while the ‘bunker family’ was generally grateful for a few days of rest, the thought of Emma scheming behind closed doors was rather alarming. Therefore, each and everyone of them had busied themselves with the same task: Bring back Rufus. One way or the other. Not just because he was sorely missed, but also because he seemed to be essential to the downfall of their mutual nemesis.

To accomplish that, they all pursued different approaches.

Jiya was focused on the Lifeboat. She had become deeply absorbed by it and spent every second of her day (and much of her night) tinkering, researching and hunting for one single goal: Make it possible to visit a time where you already existed.

If she accomplished that, they would be able to prevent what happened in the first place. Sometimes, however, she withdrew herself, disappeared into her room, not to be seen for a few hours. Without doubt to hunt through another vision in a desperate attempt to gain something useful from it. A tendency that had Flynn worried. For all he knew, she never looked decidedly happier, when she reappeared from her hideout.

And as much as he wanted to believe she would have success with her improvements on their time machine, he wasn’t very convinced. Even with Mason’s help and the upgraded future Lifeboat as testimony of their combined ingenuity.

Or maybe because of that? Question was, if her future self hadn’t succeeded in it already before providing them the upgraded Lifeboat, was it even possible? No matter how he twisted it in his head, the ruminations always rather tied knots into his brain than providing any kind of epiphany.

Agent Christopher had made it her task to investigate undisclosed medical possibilities. So, as far as he had understood, literally bringing Rufus back from the dead after he had died. He was even less convinced of this approach. It was… just plainly wrong in some disturbingly weird way. Especially if it involved poking through the poor man’s brain to get it back to shipshape.

Wyatt had gotten his hands onto the second (or the first?) journal. It was quite confusing actually, now that there were two journals. The one that he had given to Lucy before his arrest. And the one that future Lucy had given them later on. To differentiate them in his head, he referred to the former one as ‘ _his Lucy journal_ ’ and to the latter one as the ‘ _future Lucy journal’_. After he had given ‘ _his Lucy journal_ ’ to Lucy in exchange for the USB-stick, she had in turn given it to Denise for safe keeping. Around that time all of them had hoped Rittenhouse to be thwarted. Eradicated for good. Well, way off the mark.

She had given it back to Lucy three days ago and Lucy had requested his help to thoroughly compare both journals to each other. There was no real difference - Apart from one almost having been read to shreds by himself.

The content was the same. Therefore, she had given the ‘ _future Lucy journal_ ’ to Wyatt and kept the other one to herself.

The following days, she had come to his quarters regularly. Sometimes to ask for his opinion on several cloudy passages, sometimes to just enjoy the silent company while working. He had complied with either and given her all the assistance he could offer.

The entire time had been spent innocent. Companionable. Platonic. He would never pressure her into anything. For the moment he was completely satisfied to just have her around and know that she enjoyed his presence.

And while he would lean over her shoulder and read with her occasionally, he fully understood and accepted their tiny unspoken signal for him to back off and let her read on by herself. Just a raise of her hand or her fingers brushing against his neck over her shoulder.

 _I need a moment,_ it meant. And he complied without complaint.

When she had finished the last page, she had dropped the journal into her lap and just stared at him for several even breaths. Until he shrugged and she bit her lip. They did not speak that evening.

Still she had fallen asleep against his shoulder soon after and he had carried her to his bed, tucked her in and returned to his trusty armchair once again. A routine that was certainly more pleasant for his mind than it was for his back.

Each afternoon, all of them would meet around the tables of the kitchen compartment and trade the information and theories they had come up with. Most meetings had, predictably, ended in endless discussions merrily going round in circles and circles and even more circles until one of them snapped. Twice it had been Wyatt and the rest of the team had speechlessly witnessed him stomp off fuming to wherever he went to blow off steam.

This whole endeavor was, meekly worded, disillusioning.

In his eyes, it all unfolded into some weirdly twisted kind of equivalent exchange. If there was something you aimed to acquire by changing the past, it always came with a price, with casualties. Give and take. It all depended on what you were willing to give up for what you intended to achieve.

Still deep in thought, he took another sip of lukewarm tea, chamomile, to soothe the persistent itch in his throat that had soon developed after hours spent on a stagnating lifeboat out on the icy sea. At least to that the slow days spent in the bunker came in handy.

Lucy had left his quarters about thirty minutes ago, after his accidental sneezing fit, to take a shower and have some breakfast. He had willingly obeyed her advice and wrapped himself into the still warm blanket on his cot. When had he last caught a cold? He couldn’t quite remember the last time he had allowed himself to actually grant his body some time to recuperate. Well, he hadn’t even allowed himself the option of getting sick in the first place. He had just… kind of willed it away. Simply not accepted it happening.

With a yawn, he shifted onto his side, getting comfortable and letting his mind drift into the hazy realm of dreams.

***

Lucy's hand slid into the back pocket of her jeans. The pocket that contained the unremarkable slip of paper that she had torn from the journal when she had first leafed through it. That tiny slip of paper that contained a letter from herself to herself. A cryptic letter that she had decided to keep hidden. For now, for her eyes only.  
  
She fished it out, fumbled with its partly torn edges. Fleetingly checking if she had closed the bathroom door, she unfolded the letter and ran her index along the lines.

She read it again.

> _Dear Lucy, this may be strange, for I am addressing you, my former self, personally in this text. But what I want to tell you, might help you to make some important decisions. Whatever you do, as cliché as it might sound, please, go with your heart. Don’t try to go about it with nothing but logic. Because, and this is the important part, we are happy now. We all are. Despite the hardships we went through side by side. And I want you to be. Want him to be. So please Lucy, don’t you ever let him believe he’s expendable._
> 
> _Good luck._
> 
> _Lucy Preston_
> 
> _12.24.2026_

With a sigh, she folded the piece of paper back together and shoved it into her pocket before she began to undress for her shower.

Whatever her future-self had tried to convey, it was hard to discern. The only answer she had was, that the path this particular Lucy had taken, somehow had led her to a future where she and her friends, most likely the people around her now, were happy. An image that almost seemed too good to be true, given the fact that one of them had already died. And who exactly of the people around her did she mean by _him_? Not that there was a big range of people to choose from, but still...

With a sigh, she tilted her head back and stepped under the tepid spray of water.

***

At first there was darkness. Here and there a blurry of motion. Some scrambled, undistinguishable sounds. Flecks of light and shadows.

Soon – or not soon? He had lost track of time – Flynn was surrounded by familiar images. A living room - warmly lit by that old floor lamp they’d found on the flea market last week. Or the week before? It didn’t matter.

Lorena loved it and though he despised the hideous lampshade, he’d still set it up right behind her favorite spot on the couch. _Perfect for reading,_ she had insisted. How could he ever tell her ‘no’ if she tilted her head like that?

Stretching his tired limbs and dangling one arm off the couch, he scooped up a stuffed lion from the carpet and placed it on his chest.

Poor little guy, his once mighty mane all tousled and matted. Evidence of being the (currently) most loved plushie around. And of the numerous lion king reenactments, that had the poor fella drop off the cupboard in most dramatic ways. Stroking and poking through the knotted fur, he listened to the gleeful giggles of two girls playing in the room above.

A smile curved his lips and he closed his eyes to the sound.

The scenery around him blurred, shifted. Beneath him was no longer the sofa. _Did he dream?  
_

A new sound barely registered in his drowsy mind. _Whose voice…?_

“Huh?” he mumbled into his pillow, snuggling deeper into its softness.

“I said I heard a cough. I’m gonna go check on her.”

“Nah…”, he muttered, brow creasing into a dissatisfied frown. “Don’t. You’ll only wake ‘er up…”

He felt the warmth of his wife’s fingers ghost over the stubble on his jaw.

“I won’t. Just sleep, love.”

He was about to do just that when the situation registered in his mind. His eyes flew open, his body tensed, and he was ready to jump, stumble after Lorena’s fading footsteps.

But he couldn’t.

Glued to the surface of his mattress, he stared into the darkness of their bedroom. A scream bubbled in his throat, turning into sickness as it died away unheard.

Muscles straining, he desperately raged against his paralysis. He would be thrashing, tossing, howling in agony, if he only _could_.

And then he heard it, amidst the dead of night: Two dull thuds. The sound invaded his mind, resounded with sickening volume within his head and he squeezed his eyes shut, cursing, rioting against the memory.

He could not help it, could not turn away, could not blend it out, no matter how frantically he tried. Not with all his strength he was abe to prevent what was happening just down the hall. Just out of his reach -

With a sharp intake of air, he woke to the tentative rap of knuckles against his door.

“Are you alright?” Jiya’s dulled voice wafted through the door into the deadly silence of his room, only disturbed by his own ragged breathing.

“I heard a yell – I thought I’d just – uh. Well, I hope you’re okay. We’ll meet in half an hour. See you then, I guess?”

He squeezed his eyes closed, shutting out the woman’s splutter to regain his calm. Damn her. Damn him. Damn this whole unfair hell of a world.

Grinding his teeth violently, he growled his pain into the damp pillow beneath his face.

***

Lucy sat herself beside Wyatt as Flynn strolled into the room, wrapped in a shell of nonchalance that she had learned to see through. Something was on his mind and she could not quite tell what it was. Guessing from the way he dropped into his chair, he wasn’t willing to talk about it either.

“Where’s Christopher?”

“Family matters,” said Mason, shrugging. “Children and Michelle caught the flu. She’ll be here in a bit to hear what we’ve come up with.”

Flynn grimaced. “She better not brings it here with her.”

 _Says the sneezing alarm clock_ , though Lucy but kept her mouth shut.

As per usual, they began discussing their progress. Which wasn’t much, to all of their dissatisfaction. So not long after Lucy had pointed out some new details she had stumbled upon in the journal, they were back to listening to Wyatt’s attempt to gain their approval for him taking out Jessica all by himself.

Flynn rubbed one palm against his chin and shook his head in mocking faux despair.

“Alright, Wyatt, hold on - could you just, for like one second, please, consider the possibility that there is another way than taking the blame upon yourself and solving this by killing your wife? As honorable as your intentions are, the side effects most likely would kill you going there. And as much as it pains me to admit, we might need you just as much as Rufus to defeat Rittenhouse. What about Emma instead? Wasn’t she the one who shot Rufus?”

Mason frowned beside him.

“Isn’t that basically the same thing? Wherever she went, we followed her, so there’s the same risk of side effects.”

A mirthless grin tugged at Flynn’s lips.

“Well, that’s not entirely true. She spent roughly about ten years in Missouri before I took her back to the present. A decade. Plenty of time for us to go back and pay her a visit before I got there.”

The team fell into a stunned silence until Lucy broke it tentatively.

“Are you implying we should go there and-” She halted, struggling for a fitting word. With a displeased expression she finished. “Well, erase her?”

Now that they had caught on, Wyatt seemed eager to pick up the idea. Planting both of his hands flat onto the table, he leaned in.

“That might be it. For all we know, Emma has always been pulling some strings of this freakshow behind the curtains. It wouldn’t surprise me if she came up with the idea to… recruit Jessica. Given the way they stick together.”

He nodded, more to himself than to anybody else, as he phrased his thoughts further.

“So, there’s probably a double chance that Rufus will never be shot. First because Emma was the one to pull the trigger and secondly because the trip to San Francisco would have never happened if Jessica hadn’t kidnapped Jiya.”

“The latter one is just your assumption. No guarantee for that. And what about our other missions? Everything that happened after Emma became–” Lucy’s gaze flickered to Flynn, who was listening intently.

“Became the Mothership’s pilot. Lindbergh, Al Capone, Ethan Cahil, all those arrested Rittenhouse members. - The race, Hollywood?” She faltered.

“So much happened after that.”

“Is there any reason why we’d have worked less efficiently without her as our enemy?”

Lucy shook her head, contemplating Wyatt’s question.

“Well, sure there would be a lot of reasons for us to act… differently. To make decisions based on alternate experiences and, to us now, unknown initial situations. There’s absolutely no possibility to predict how events will turn. We could all be dead when we come back. Well, our alter egos in that new timeline, I guess.”

“Or we could’ve defeated Rittenhouse already,” noted Wyatt and Lucy fell silent.

“Alright, let’s vote.”

All eyes fell on Flynn, startled by his sudden interjection.

Lucy shook her head vehemently.

“We can’t just – _vote_. This decision may be responsible for Rittenhouse taking over the world. How can you just propose to… vote?”

He shrugged his shoulders.

“Any better suggestions?”

She opened her mouth but couldn’t formulate a reasonable reply. She closed it again.

“Fine.” She finally conceded. “ _Fine_. I vote _no_. The risk is too high. We can’t possibly anticipate the consequences for not just us, but for everybody around us. Wyatt?”

The man in question hesitated, considering his options. His pained expression clearly gave away that he was still struggling to decide whether he was guilty enough to pursue his earlier proposal or go along with Flynn’s idea.

Jiya raised her hand in his place. “I vote yes, for Rufus.”

Mason followed suit. “Me too. Yes. Let’s go and get him back.”

His voice broke on the last words and it was obvious to Lucy, that he still blamed himself for this entire situation. For everything that happened after he had fulfilled his lifelong dream of building a time machine - Funded by Rittenhouse.

Lucy remembered it. They had done this before. With David Rittenhouse. Back when Flynn was still their enemy and they had barely been able to believe what he revealed about the world around them and the evil within it. One person. Kill one person and possibly save hundreds of lives. It had not worked out well then. She didn’t want to think about possible reasons for their failure again. She had agonized over it for days and days without success.

Finally, Wyatt nodded his consent.

“Yes. One devious Rittenhouse member less can’t be that bad. Fundamentally, all we’ve been doing over the past few weeks was going back to kill sleepers. Nothing different about this one.”

“Yes, it is!” Exclaimed Lucy, throwing up her hands in exasperation. “Of course it is different! The sleepers we took out were barely active. That’s why they’re called _sleepers_. We took them out _before_ they acted. Flynn!”

She turned back to him, searching for help but earning an innocent shrug. It was his idea after all, what had she expected?

“Oh alright. You all know we tried to stop exactly this. Rampaging through history without being able to predict the consequences. This is-“

“The Flynn-Way,” said Wyatt.

“I meant to say _insane_ ,” Lucy deadpanned.

“Oh, thank you.” Rumbled Flynn’s scratchy voice from across the table.

She shot him a warning glance. No matter how close they had come throughout the past days and weeks, this was plain wrong. She just felt it. What had gotten into his mind to suddendly propose such a rash thing?

Mason cleared his throat to gather everyone’s attention.

“It’s great that we’re all, well, most of us, agreeing on this. But I highly doubt Agent Christopher will be.”

Lucy crossed her arms defiantly. He was right. Denise would not consent to this. At least one more person to keep a cool head in heated discussions.

Wyatt folded his hands beneath his chin.

“But it might be our best shot. We should at least try to explain.”

“So?” Interfered Flynn. “What’re we gonna do? Sit and wait for mommy’s permission?”

Wyatt scoffed. “Should’ve asked yours to ground you in 1969. Would’ve saved us some trouble.”

A sardonic smile skittered over Flynn's feautures, but he seemed to bite his tongue.

Oh great. So even if both were on the same page for once, the bickering continued.

Rolling her eyes, Lucy sighed. This really couldn’t be happening.

“Let’s go now.”

All heads turned to Jiya. Determination written all over her face, she fixated each of them in turn with a gaze that brooked no dissent as she stood.

“I said _let’s go now_.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some unwelcome memories and doubt in this one - what are they gonna do? Follow through with their spontaneous plan and find Emma? Or turn around to wait for Rittenhouse's next move? Read on to find out. :)

“What is it, Lucy? Are you coming or staying?”

Aghast Lucy stared at Flynn’s outstretched hand, reaching down for her from the staircase.

“You can’t be serious! We can’t just do this! This is just rash, reckless and irresponsible and-” She called out and desperately waved her hands in his general direction.

“We can. And we will. And I’d rather have you come along. I-“, he faltered, thinking better then saying out loud what went through his head. She knew it, nevertheless. There was no guarantee she was still there when they came back if she did not tag along with them on their murderous trip. One reason more to stop this horrible endeavor.

And what was that pleading gaze anyway? She had made her stance clear.

“Lucy?” Called Jiya from the pilot’s seat, and she caught Wyatt eying her beside Flynn with just as much persuasive power.

“Remember what future Lucy said?” He asked. “We _need_ Rufus to take them down.”

Biting her lip, she wavered, turned to Mason at the control panel. Could he just not nod like that? Urging her on? He was staying behind as well.

She turned back, still conflicted. As much as she wished for a chance to bring Rufus back, her head, her logical assessment of the situation told her _no_.

But on the other hand, she remembered the letter: _Whatever you do, as cliché as it might sound, please, go with your heart. Don’t try to go about it with nothing but logic._

Had she meant this? Her future self? That she had to go with her friends, her heart? Was she referring to this specific decision? Or was it something entirely else? How should she know?

“Lucy?” Said Flynn – and she finally caved in. With a heavy sigh, she took his hand and climbed into the Lifeboat. They were going anyway. And if they went, she’d at least make sure to limit the damage.

“You are all insane…” She muttered as the hatch closed behind her back.

***

They landed the Lifeboat near the closest settlement to Indian territory. No need to find and employ another guide this time. For several reasons. Mainly because Wyatt and Flynn both were confident to find the way to Emma’s hideout without further assistance. Lucy trusted them on that. Both men had proven their expertise enough to have her believe it. And she herself felt she would remember it as well. Especially since the first familiar expressions of their close vicinity brought back a load of memories from their earlier travel.

A shiver ran through her body. She didn’t really want to remember this particular mission. It made her painfully aware how much had happened in between. What she had done. How much she and her team had changed. Their allies and enemies. Their interests and goals. How long had it been since then? A few months? How many? It was hard to keep track. To her it seemed like a lifetime. She tucked the memory away. The last she needed was remembering it in detail.

Also, they were not willing to risk that people might later on recognize their former selves. Therefore, an undercover mission it had to be. And the more Lucy mused about it, the more she believed that this was indeed a very big and horrible mistake. But there was no turning back now. Her team seemed to be thoroughly convinced that this was the way to go.

“How come its always winter when we land here?” She asked nobody in particular to keep herself from overthinking. She hugged her own shoulders and rubbed her upper arms in a futile attempt to generate at least a little warmth.

“People are less willing to go out and step in our way when it’s cold and snowy. As simple as that,” said Flynn as all four of them set off to prepare for their journey.

***

Was Lucy angry with him for suggesting this?

Flynn wondered about that ever since they set foot into the Lifeboat a few hours earlier. Well, he could understand where she was coming from. And the longer he pondered it the more he had to concur with her. Their conversation around the table had quickly developed a live of its own, rapidly leading them down a rash path to a debatable decision. Heated minds had given in to the temptation of grasping the apparently easiest solution. Especially after days of making no progress at all.

One thing was definite: Agent Cristopher would be furious when they came back. – That was if she was still around to be furious.

Nervously he licked his lips as he led two horses out of a stable, silently hushing to keep them calm. Wyatt was close behind, the crackle of hooves on gravel betraying that he had also succeeded in luring two more mounts with him.

Tipping his stolen stetson forward, Flynn headed for the strip of forest, where the Lifeboat was hidden from view. Jiya and Lucy had chosen to remain there and shelter from the cold within its hull until they were ready to go. It wasn’t long now until dawn and with the first rays of sun creeping over the horizon, they would take to the road.

A ride of roughly one day and a half laid ahead of them. _And this time_ , Lucy had said eyeing him sharply, _it was not going to be any sort of killing spree_.

As much as he tried to shrug it off, her words stung. She knew fairly well that he was not eager to kill. Even less now, that she had begun to put her trust in him. Hence, he had kept cautious distance to prevent himself from unintentionally provoking her any further.

Nevertheless, he was painfully reminded of his last journey through these lands.

 _An’ Flynn_ , Jesse’s wily voice echoed through his head, _when your cause fails an’ you find yourself drifting a little more my way – look me up. I’ll be waitin’._

 _Then wait ‘til you rot_ , Flynn thought, grinding his teeth, as he banished the unsettling memory and buried it, never to be found again.

Wyatt in tow, he reached the Lifeboat undetected, relieved that they had at least come this far devoid of any conflicts with residents.

Cooing hushed words as he stroked the chestnut’s bright blaze, he secured both leading ropes to a knobby snag.

Behind his back he heard Wyatt knock against the time machine’s hull to call for Lucy and Jiya. Still devoting himself to the peaceful animal and its smooth fur, Flynn listened in on their silent conversation.

“Did you… did it go well?” He heard Lucy ask.

“Without incident. I snatched a few blankets from the stable. Smells like horse, but better than nothing. Here, wrap yourself up.”

A rustle of fabric disturbed the nights stillness.

“Thank you. Oh god, its freezing out here.”

It certainly was. However - even if Flynn would never admit it out loud - in his own little imaginative world, he’d rather wrap her in his arms than in some dirty old rug.

***

The sun had barely crept over the jagged line of horizon as they readied themselves to embark on their journey.

Lucy had spent the time wandering around the clearing and watching the stars disappear between the branches.

“Jiya?” She had asked, as sparkling dots vanished among dim morning light.

“If one of us was to die or never been born in the future because of things we change in the past… would we come back to a world that simply has forgotten about us or would we just… disappear?”

“I… don’t know that.”

An honest answer. But no less unsettling.

“Since neither has happened ‘til now, it’s hard to say. If this was Back to the Future, we’d probably disappear. But gathering from all we know, I’d assume the former. Our memories didn’t disappear when we traveled time, so neither would we. It’s just the world around us that changes as long as we're travelling. You could imagine it as a fork in the timeline. Once we change something, the flow of time takes another path - which we then come back to. Otherwise we'd have a giant paradox on our hands. Because if we'd just disappear, there would have been no one to go back and make us disappear in the first place.”

Absentmindedly Lucy had nodded. Jiya's explanation was comprehensible, but hard to imagine. Silently she mused what happened to their initial timelines. Or any timeline they left. Did they just dissolve? Or did they further exist without them? She gave up on it, when the imagination of her sister, lonely and abandoned with their sick mother popped into her mind and threatened to overwhelm her. What if Amy still existed there? And Lucy just never came back home? Probably never could? She forced herself to recite poems instead to cool her mind.

Eventually, she sighed her answer. “I hope, you’re right.”

_And I really hope the people we left behind do not suffer from what we change._

It was enough to endure that once.

By now they were on their way. Despite a constant tension hovering above them like a threatening guillotine, Lucy could not stop herself from joining in on the snorting and laughing regarding Jiya’s first attempts in riding. She had even managed to lead her horse in several circles before she finally figured out how to get the poor animal follow her directions.

“You shouldn’t be laughing!” She snubbed their chuckles. “All three of you! At least I’m able to pilot without blasting us to bits. Laugh when you’ve managed that!”

She wasn’t able to finish her sentence before joining in on the giggling herself. It was the last time they laughed before the heavy curtain of broody reticence draped itself over the group of travelers for the remaining day.

***

When they finally pitched camp in the evening, Lucy was sure her legs had molded themselves to the horse’s back. She spent a vast amount of time to stretch her aching body before willing herself to help with setting up their place to sleep.

They had chosen a low rock overhang to rest beneath. Not quite a cave, but enough to cover them from the new snowfall. To that, the rocky niche efficiently concealed the wavering shine of fire from the world around. Devoutly she hoped that it was enough to obscure their presence in this foreign land. A, worst case, violent dispute with the natives was the last thing they needed now.

Feeling the exhaustion seeping through her tired limbs, she lowered herself to the hard ground and wrapped the blanket firmer around her shivering body.

Stretching her hands out towards the flames, she yawned and listened to the soothing crackling of wood turning to ash.

Briefly she wondered how Wyatt had been able to fall asleep so quickly by her side. The man had been softly snoring for minutes beneath the rim of his hat. Probably he hadn’t slept much lately, and fatigue had finally caught up to him. She did not begrudge him for his rest. He’d been really wound up throughout the past days and seeing him so serene for a change was a relief.

Jiya sat across from her, staring into the flickering flames - telling from her troubled expression, obviously sunken into her very own thunderstorm of conflicting thoughts.

Where Flynn had wandered off to, she didn’t know. Probably tending to the horses, they had racked up under the shelter of some dense treetops.

Not feeling sleepy at all herself, she rose from her spot, wrapped into her blanket like a cocoon.

“I’m gonna go for a walk.”

Jiya bowed her head absentmindedly and Lucy hesitated.

“We’ll get him back, Jiya,” she said silently, not to disturb Wyatt’s peaceful slumber.

“I’m-“

“I know,” Jiya cut her off and raised her gaze from the flames. Even though the fire cast flickering shadows across her face, Lucy could tell that her smile did not quite reach her eyes. They were all so weary. Not essentially just in the literal sense, but of fighting. Of traveling and living out of bags and suitcases. Of stealing. Of being constantly afraid that the world around them changed while they didn’t pay attention for so much as a minute. Of discovering yet another loss or cruel twist of fate. And still they all condoned and endured it every single day.

“Don’t wander off too far,” said Jiya before her eyes focused back on the campfire, idly following glowing sparks, blown into the crisp air by wet wood’s pops.

“Just around the corner.”

And that was where she went. Ducking her head under their shelter’s low entry, Lucy rounded the rutted cliff cornering their camp and stepped out into the freezing night.

Regardless of the frigid cold, she felt a rush of relief washing over her as she raised her head and took a deep breath. Their hideout wasn’t exactly claustrophobic, but narrow enough to feel uncomfortable in. It enticed to brood and she wasn’t too eager on that.

Wrapping her arms around herself, she waited for her eyes to adjust to the pale moonlight. Filtering in though crisscrossed branches, it cast a web of spidery shadows across the barely touched snowy soil. If this were not 1876 and if she were not hopelessly entangled into this abstruse fight to save their reality, it would have been so nice to have a long calm walk through untouched nature. But alas, here she was, stuck in the past, wondering what she had done to be thrown into this desolate battle.

A few feet away she spotted the silhouette she had been looking for.

His back to her, Flynn busied himself talking to the horses instead of the people he was traveling with.

Though she could not understand the murmurs he cooed, it still made her lips curl up into a soft smile.

Silently stepping closer, she observed him.

How could he be out here for so long?

A thin sheet of snow had gathered on his hat and shoulders, skirting his shadowed figure white against the nocturnal dark.

She was still cross with him for even suggesting something so imprudent and, in her eyes, outright stupid. But seeing him standing there in the freezing cold all by himself, her anger slowly melted away. They were all so desperate to end this. To rest in the calm of knowing it was over. And who was she to tell what was right and wrong any longer.

Setting one foot in front of the other, careful to not create any noise, she inched closer until she could have reached out to touch him if she only raised her arm.

“Hey Tex,” she whispered, and his head snapped up in surprise. His startled stare fixing on her, she pressed her lips together not to snort at his bewildered face.

“Sorry,” she murmured, leaning herself against the tree beside him.

“This was just too tempting to ignore.”

“You still remember that?”

Smirking she pointed her finger at his cowboy-ish hat.

“Looks like you accomplished that childhood dream of yours. If only for a day or two.”

Relaxing back against the pine bark himself, he buried both hands deep into the pockets of his coat.

“I’m not so sure about that,” he said after a while and Lucy watched his breath puff tiny clouds into the air with every syllable.

“You know, in those comics it always was pretty clear. A black and white world. Good and evil clearly separated by law and common ethics. Would be a lot easier that way.”

Watching him gazing up at the night sky, Lucy pondered his words before she answered.

“But would it really be? I think I’d still question myself. It all depends on perspective and your ability to switch it.”

“Always overanalyzing. Just let me dream for a moment, will you?” He chuckled.

She fell silent at that, granting him the peace to think.

“ _Zusammen Pferde stehlen_ ,” he uttered after a while and she frowned.

“Fer-de stelen?” She imitated poorly, watching him suppress a grin to her awkward pronunciation. „Is that German?”

He nodded, straightening his back against the tree.

“Yup. _Mit jemandem Pferde stehlen können_ ,” he answered her open question as he turned to his horse. “To be able to go steal horses with somebody. In German it carries a double meaning. Besides the literal one, it basically means to have enough trust in each other to do such a risky thing together.”

He smiled fondly and petted the chestnut’s muzzle affectionally.

“Who would’ve expected I’d ever go steal horses with you guys.”

Lucy found herself smiling right back at him, again thoroughly impressed by his language skills. Speaking a language fluently was one thing. Understanding and skillfully using idiomatic expressions was next level, though. From his classified file she knew he’d gotten around, and that linguistic proficiency was imperative to his foregone occupation. But she sensed there was more behind it than just professionalism. One day she would ask him about it. But right now, something else had caught her attention.

“You’re sweating,” she noted, knitting her brows together in confusion. He clearly shouldn’t be, given the fact they were standing out in the snow with clothing that barely was suited to fend off the cold.

Swiftly she raised her hands, snatched the hat from his head, stroked back his damp fringe and pressed the back of her right against his forehead.

“Flynn, you’re hot.”

“I know. Thank you anyway.” A lopsided grin spread across his face, sparkles of jest dancing through hazel eyes.

She huffed a sigh and shook her head.

“No. I meant febrile. Your forehead is warm.”

Gently he grabbed her wrist and urged her hand away from his face, just to wrap it tenderly between his own larger ones.

“Your hand’s just cold. Not necessarily the best comparison to measure body temperature. Come on, let’s get you back to the fire.”

Letting go of her hand before she could protest, he laid his own on her upper arms, turned her gently but firmly on the spot and urged her forward.

“Hey, I can walk quite fine by myseAh!-“

Slipping on frozen stone, she fell back and right into his chest. Catching her beneath both arms, Flynn peered down at her, grinning roguishly, one brow arched.

“Yeah, I can see that.”

Half being pulled upwards by him, half righting herself up, Lucy crossed both arms defiantly in front of her chest and took one step away from him, his hat still in her grasp.

“I wouldn’t have slipped, if you hadn’t pushed me.”

“You might as well have, we’ll never know,” he retorted, mirth lacing his rough voice. “An’ this way at least I was there to catch you, hm?”

With a wink he passed her, plucking the hat from her fingers. A sharp riposte ready on her tongue, she turned on her heel to follow him. But it never left her mouth. She just stood there, rooted to the spot, watching Garcia Flynn disappear into their hideout. And she scolded herself quietly for the sudden wish to feel his hands back on her shoulders.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which unpleasant surprises might cause some complications and feelings are reflected on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was stuck writing and terribly bored, so I built the bunker and the team in Sims. 
> 
> Flynn managed to set himself on fire and almost died within the first 10 minutes.  
> Why do you do this to me, man? xD 
> 
> Well, at least I'm not stuck anymore.

Flynn had awoken slowly that morning, grateful for a few peaceful, yet dreamless hours of sleep. Wyatt had taken over night watch for him a few hours after they had set up camp and while Flynn had guessed sleeping would be difficult, given the last night’s events, exhaustion had claimed him sooner than expected. Fortunately, his slumber had been deep and dreamless.

Today though, he felt like hell. One would have thought rest would help his body to function properly. Instead he’d blearily blinked into dim morning light, roused by the shuffle of people around him already breaking camp.

“Good mornin’ sleeping beauty.” He had mockingly been greeted with by Wyatt’s enervating voice, as the soldier shoveled soil over the remains of their campfire. The groan Flynn meant to emit turned into a coughing fit instead.

Now, back in saddle, his throat felt like sandpaper, his head throbbed dreadfully, and he generally felt like he’d been run over by a freight train. He was covering it remarkably well, however, since neither Jiya nor Wyatt had shown any sign of concern for him or even the success of their mission. Well, there was always the possibility they simply did not care. He could perfectly well imagine Wyatt proposing to shoot him like a limping horse to put him out of his misery.

Lucy had obviously noticed his predicament, glancing at him every now and then, worry plain visible on her face. To himself he did now admit, he might have been a tad feverish the night before. What did it matter though? He had started this; he’d get over with it.

To their luck, their travel stayed devoid of unpleasant surprises. The sky had cleared up, the sun was shining and as they reached the forest that contained the hut of that insidious Rittenhouse backstabber bitch, Flynn was relieved to have been spared of other unwelcome encounters. There was still the way back, but he wouldn’t waste thought on that until they were done with Emma.

They decided to rack up the horses about fifteen minutes of walking distance from her hideout to make sure their ride home wasn’t harmed in battle.

The following discussion of their further actions had been short but intense. As they securely tied their horses to the trees, they quietly hissed at each other, arguing heatedly until it was settled:

Flynn and Jiya were to keep watch of the entrance. Flynn, because he was hardly in his best shape for any kind of brawling – Lucy had insisted on that – and Jiya because she was rattled enough by the situation itself.

Lucy had, much to Flynn’s distress, demanded to go in with Wyatt. Two against one raised their chances significantly, she had argued. To that, she still had a score to settle with Emma. Even though this version of said woman had no chance knowing about that yet.

Probably, Flynn guessed, she just felt responsible for this whole event and deemed it necessary to… well, just be there, be involved.

Regardless of her reasons, there was a fire blazing in her eyes that tolerated no protest against her decision.

Their goal was as clear as it was unsettling: Go in, kill Emma, change their present with it and collect all information on Rittenhouse she might have gathered on the battered devices within the hut.

When he had first come here, he hadn’t even considered that possibility since there had been no suspicion of Emma being involved with Rittenhouse. He had gathered her up under the assumption that the woman despised them just as much as he did. And that she was on the run.

Knowing about her affiliation to them was a major game changer, however. Despite the damage done to laptops, hard drives and whatever else the woman had compiled within her hideout, with Mason’s help there was a tiny chance to recover at least some additional data.

Lowering himself behind some branchy thicket, he cocked his gun, ready to intervene and jump into the fight if necessary. He had experienced Emma’s hostility and loose trigger finger firsthand. Given the fact that she had apparently survived an entire decade in life-hostile environment without the aid of others was a testimony of her will of survival and her skills as a fighter. They’d have to take her out before she even got the chance to realize what was happening. The quicker this was over, the better.

Beside him Jiya huddled in the bushes, ready to crow a warning if needed.

Taking a deep, rattling breath, he nodded to Lucy and Wyatt. _Go on and get her_ , he signaled and quietly watched them sneak out of their hiding place, ready to strike.

Seeing Lucy creeping up the hill, he felt the pace of his heart accelerate.

Despite his general disliking for the man, Wyatt was a good soldier, a good fighter and very able to protect Lucy. He had proven that several times. Nevertheless, the possibility for things going awry was always there. And by now Flynn was far over the point of convincing himself that Lucy’s death would not shatter him to pieces.

Tensing, he observed Wyatt pressing his back against the logs between door and window, Lucy close by his side. A touch of Wyatt’s hand to Lucy’s – and the man leaped forward through the door, weapon ready in hand to engage.

It stayed silent. Frowning, Flynn watched the scene unfold, the apprehension growing heavy in his gut. Lucy slipped in behind Wyatt and both were gone from sight.

Was Emma not there? Were they trying to lie in wait for her inside?

His ruminations were cut short, when a hooded figure rounded the cabin from the other side, just out of view until it turned the corner. Emma’s face became visible when she stroked back the fabric of her coat. Behind her she was dragging her supper through the snow - A large hare that left a bloody trail in innocent white.

In the other hand, she carried her rifle.

Kicking into action, Flynn raised his gun. Why wait for Wyatt to act if he could end it right now?

That was precisely when things went south within the blink of an eye. Just as he had carefully aimed for a single shot to kill, some sound within the hut caught Emma's attention. Dropping the hare and ripping up her musket, she dashed to the entrance, barely missed by the shot he took. Flipping around she fired blindly in his direction, missing his shoulder by a hair's breadth.  
  
" _Lucy!_ " He roared, but Emma had already disappeared through the door, ready to kill whoever awaited.  
  
Two shots fell as he scrambled up the hill. Three more as Jiya overtook him, pelting for the door.  
Skidding over mushy snow, he reached the entrance just in time to see a body drop to the floor like a wet blanket just in front of Jiya’s shaking frame. His heart almost stuttered to a stop. Breathing raggedly, he stared at it. Distinctly female, certainly stabbed, but _red_ hair. Emma! - Emma's body, _not_ Lucy's.

_Oh good god, thank heavens._

***

Lucy stood stock still, her whole body shivering as she desperately grabbed onto the damaged laptop screen that she still had in her hands. She had been looking at it warily when Emma burst through the door. Not thinking about whether it was suitable for protection or not, she had held onto it, torn it in front of her upper body in a frantic attempt to shield against the shots. The other woman, however, seemed to have realized that Wyatt, armed and ready to fight, was the bigger threat and in a split-second-decision aimed her fire at him instead.  
  
Now Lucy was startled by the sudden silence. The gunfire died down and apart from her own frenzied breathing and the pounding and searing of blood in her ears, there was nothing.

Slowly she lowered her makeshift shield, just in time to see Emma's limp body drop to the floor with a dull thud. Her fall revealed Jiya behind her, trembling and staring, a large bloody dagger clutched determinedly in her hands.  
  
Lucy's body was impulsively torn between rasping a breath of relief and throwing up in the corner of the room. Before one of both instincts had a chance to fully kick in, she dazedly saw Flynn urge Jiya inside to pass her, stepping over the lifeless body without as much as sparing it a glance. A breath later his hands were on Lucy's face, turning it this and that way, stroking her cheeks and then leaving it entirely to pry the broken laptop from her paralyzed fingers and check her body for any other kind of injury.

Slowly but steadily she registered his words.  
_Lucy? Lucy, are you hurt? Hey! Do you hear me?_  
Shaking her head, she rid herself of the dizziness and nodded faintly.

"Wyatt?" She croaked and spied relief mixing with consternation on Flynn's face.  
Carefully, to make sure she was steady on her own legs, he backed a step away and following his outflung arm, she spotted her friend a short distance away, stowing his gun back into his holster, unharmed but visibly shaken. He must have found shelter in time behind the overthrown desk. Her body decided for the shuddering exhale of relief that instant, before she slid to her knees against the cabins rough wall.

***

Emma never stood a chance. With nowhere to run, nowhere to duck behind, her hut had been the only chance to evade Flynn's fire. Inside she was greeted with Wyatt's attack. Jiya's final stab to her back had finished her off. It was unexpected, quick and relentless. And Lucy despised it.

Jiya, however, had caught herself quicker than anyone of them would have expected. While killing a person obviously upset her deeply, she was back to focus in no time.

Lucy now understood what Jiya had told them after coming back to the present. She was no longer the person that had been kidnapped by Jessica. The three years spent in past San Francisco had formed her, shaped her into a fighter. A woman eager to survive under dire circumstances. And avenge the man she loved.

Lucy wasn’t sure what to make of it. But one thing was clear: Without Jiya’s quick thinking of grabbing the hunting knife that stuck in the wooden wall, Emma probably might have riddled her with bullets in no time. Still, Lucy saw it in her friend's eyes. That haunted expression she had witnessed in her own mirror image countless times before. Those silent questions. _Who are you? What have you become?_

Jiya, however, found a way to keep herself off the matter. Whenever the fleeting shadow crept over her face, it was replaced by an insistent hopefulness within a heartbeat.

When they set up camp, her friend dispelled the heavy silence by either checking through the technical clutter they had taken along or by ranting on which sci-fi series she’d first shove into the DVD player as soon as Rufus was back on the couch by her side. Lucy devoutly hoped she would not be met with disappointment when they stepped into the bunker. No matter how brave and resilient (or probably desperate) she had become – if this mission did not result in the desired outcome, it would break her.

Her own feelings were a straight-out rollercoaster ride. She was terribly afraid of what they had done. The changes they had yet to discover. However, she was just as full of hope to see Rufus cracking some stupid jokes once they came back.

Regardless of the hatred that Emma had fueled in her, she felt guilty for her death. No, she corrected herself. Not for _her_ death, but for _a_ death. No matter how often she told herself who Emma was, what she had done – or rather would do – killing was a solution she still could not quite square with her conscience. Never would. And she knew, that her expression, that shock and pain on her enemy’s face, had burnt itself into her memory. And that it was yet another face that would haunt her whenever she drifted into regret and sorrow.

She was also worried. About Flynn and his blasted stubbornness.

Taking the first watch in their nightly camp on the way back, she saw him shivering beneath the blankets, coughing every now and then. But he never complained. Never even asked for anything. He just went about his duties. She had not woken him that night for his shift.

Instead she had stayed awake and crouched beside his curled up sleeping figure. Unbeknownst to him and her other sleeping companions, she had carded her fingers though his sweat-damped hair, hushing him with whispered words whenever his wearied body tensed beneath her touch.

“We’re almost home, Garcia…” She murmured into the quiet night. The words were directed at herself just as much as she meant to calm him...

***

They had made it back to the Lifeboat without further complications. Thankfully.

Flynn felt himself not in a shape to put up with any more trouble.

The rhythmic whirring of the Lifeboat’s machinery pierced his ears in deafening volume, and it cost him a tremendous effort to sooth his revolting stomach, as the landing _thud_ had his guts compress and lurch without mercy.

Despite the anxiety of discovering what awaited behind the still closed hatch, his foremost thought was the pleading wish to just drop into a bed, close his eyes and sleep until his body decided to behave again. His chest was aching with every drawn breath, his mind hazy and his limbs sore as he picked up one of the bags to follow his team out of the confining time machine.

Taking a steady inhale of stale bunker air, Flynn stepped down the flight of metal stairs, effetely taking in the scene of joy that played out before his eyes. Jiya had been the first to leave the Lifeboat, eager of see if their scheme had changed the present for the better. And she seemed to be fully happy with their apparent success.

She was now hugging Rufus tightly, kissing him and squeezing him with abandon.

The man seemed overjoyed by this shower of affection, but equally confused with her tears of happiness. Understandable. Until now he had most likely been well in this bunker, waiting for his love to return to him from some random mission. Flynn was too tired to give it more thought.

Tearing his eyes from the sappy picture, his attention caught on something less pleasant, however: Agent Christopher’s face, which was quickly depleting of color and delight. And her gaze was rooted right to him, as was the barrel of her gun.

“You should be dead,” she said matter-of-factly.

With a heavy sigh, he dropped the bag of technical clutter and raised his hands. This was off to a great start.

***

Denise was pacing, forth and back, back and forth, until she eventually stopped right in front of the team, her wary gaze falling on Flynn once more.

“You say he is an ally now?”

Lucy nodded firmly.

“Has been for a while.”

With a long exhale the older woman leaned back against the counter.

“Well, he wasn’t to us. After Anthony refused to pilot the Mothership any longer and tried to blow it up instead, we found him dead in some bushes. Obviously, he had failed to destroy the Mothership, so it was still hidden somewhere, but with nobody to fly it, Flynn was stuck. To shorten things a bit, he became desperate, went after us to get Rufus and force him to pilot. To our luck, we were prepared, and he was arrested."

She paused, probably considered how to outline the event without getting hung up on details. Then she proceeded.

"He was still a valuable source of information, so he was locked away. Securely. I didn’t expect him to be… attacked. The first time, it was rather harmless. I wrote it off as some random dispute between inmates. As was the second. The third assault was successful, however.”

Flynn could feel Lucy’s eyes on himself. He knew exactly she was thinking about the day they had gotten him out of prison. And that, most likely, he wouldn’t be here, sitting beside her, if it wasn’t for her effort. It was possible that things would have turned out the same in their former timeline if they hadn’t gotten him out of there in time.

“I’m not at all happy with this. But it seems we all have some things to catch up on,”

Denise went on, carefully picking one word after another. Her glare was still fixed on Flynn, weighing if she was willing to trust Lucy’s word or rather her own experience.

“Go, get cleaned up. We’ll meet here in two hours to get matters straight. Wyatt?”

The solider snapped his head up.

“I want you to have an eye on him.”

Wyatt’s gaze flickered from Denise to Flynn, who was sunken into his chair and pale as a sheet of paper. Jumping over his own shadow, the soldier sighed.

“I don’t think that is really necessa-“

“It’s an order.”

Clicking his mouth shut, he nodded. Agent Christopher was not in the mood to argue.

***

Lucy and Wyatt stared, Flynn looming behind them, as they stood in front of the room that Connor had shown them.

“So… there is my stuff and your stuff,” Lucy pointed out feebly as she turned to Wyatt.

“Do you think we were… an item in this reality?”

Wyatt pressed his lips together and shoved both hands into his pockets, not sure on how to answer that.

“Not unlikely,” rasped Flynn behind them, annoyance growing evermore.

“Looks like we’ll have to do some… rearranging,” Wyatt stated flatly as he trudged into the room.

It was awkward to Lucy, to say the least. Seeing him standing there among their personal items beside a provisory double bed.

“We could leave this room to Jiya and Rufus,” Wyatt proposed, scratching the back of his head.

Lucy shook her head and bounced on her feet.

“They seem to have arranged themselves as well. Rufus said they just shoved two cots into one of the smaller rooms. It’s… cozy, he assured me.”

All three exchanged gazes, wordlessly debating who was willing to talk about the elephant in the room.

“I could always take the couch again,” suggested Lucy, breaking the uncomfortable silence but Wyatt just raised a mocking brow.

“Uh-uh, no way. I’ll keep an eye on him, yes, because I was ordered to. But I won’t share a room with him.”

“For god’s sake,” muttered Flynn under his breath, ushered Lucy into the room and eyed Wyatt with growing disdain. His headache was telling him to end this debate as quickly as possible.

“Out.”

“What?”

“I said _out_.”

Anger etched itself onto the soldier’s face for being ordered around, by Flynn no less. He took a step closer, but Lucy raised her hands in a placating manner.

“Just – Wyatt. Let’s settle this later, alright? Flynn needs rest, we need a shower and we can resolve this and separate our things after the debriefing. Please?”

Scrunching up his face and clenching his fists, Wyatt seemed to consider her suggestion. Eventually he relaxed, the irritation, however, never left his features.

“Fine.”

Marching through the room and rummaging through lockers and boxes, he gathered fresh clothes and everything he needed for the bathroom before he turned and left without another word.

“Go after him if you like or stay. I don’t care,” muttered Flynn as his shoulders sagged with the other man’s departure.

It pained Lucy to see him like this. Worn out, strangely vulnerable and most likely still burning a searing fever. Shaking her head in disbelieve, she took a step closer and laid both of her cool hands against Flynn’s heated face. Definitely still running a temperature.

“Wyatt’ll manage. No offence, but you’re a real jerk sometimes,” she stated quietly as she shoved the dusty coat off his shoulders.

“None taken. And I can do that myself.”

She silenced him with a single piercing glare and made quick work of the vest and cravat below.

“Lucy,” he tried again but she cut him off, shoving the dropped clothing out of the way with her foot.

“Just – Just shut your mouth for a moment and let me take care of this. You’ve even carried me to bed. Let me return the favor and look after you for once.”

“You don’t-“

“No.”

“I d-“

“Nuh-uh.”

“Lu-“

She pressed her hand firmly against his mouth, watching his eyes widen a fraction.

“Fine. You win. If I take my hand away and you protest again, I’ll stop this and leave you be.”

Fiercely she glowered into his eyes and tried to determine, what went on in that fever-stricken mind of his. She waited a breath, inhale, exhale, to let her words sink in. Then she gently pulled her hand away.

He stayed silent.

Nodding to herself, she laid both of her hands flat on his chest and urged him backwards until his legs hit the mattress. Obediently he sat himself, observing her with lowered head as she kneeled before him to free his feet of first one and then the second boot.

“We’re gonna need to get you some new clothes,” she mumbled as she busied herself with undoing the buttons of his shirt.

“Wyatt’s, Rufus’ or Connor’s will hardly fit you.”

She paused, the fourth button still in hand.

“Did you have something important here in the bunker?”

It slowly slotted into place. If he was dead in this reality, all his things were most likely gone. Not just his clothes. Everything Denise had brought in for him, everything he had gathered here since he had moved in with the team.

Had he even been buried? The sudden realization made her tense. According to Denise he had died in prison, authorities believing him to be nothing but a murderer and a terrorist. What did they do with a body of such a person? Did they burn it? A strange and very disturbing thought to cross her mind when he was sitting right in front of her.

Had… he been alone? Her throat constricted and she couldn’t prevent a sudden wetness pricking her eyes. She could not help imagining it. After all that he’d been through. Losing his family. Following her journal to try and get things right. Forcing himself to kill. Being arrested. And then dying alone, incarcerated, probably painfully. Without so much as a hand to hold?

She pressed her lips into a thin line, forced herself to abandon the dreadful picture. She could feel his gaze burning into the top of her head, as she stared at his buttons, her fingers still not moving to further undo them. She could see them tremble. So could he.

“Nothing of personal value,” he finally said, and she felt a wave of relief wash over her, so grateful to hear his reassuring voice. A reminder that he still was there. Alive, warm and his chest steadily rising and falling beneath her hands with every raspy breath. “It can all be replaced.”

She wondered if he had owned anything of personal value at all – besides the wedding band on his finger. She had first noticed its absence on her second visit in prison. Of course, she had known it – that personal items were taken and stored if you were to be arrested. But in this special case, it pierced her heart. She was so happy for him that he had managed to get it back.

A flex of his fingers on the mattress made her acutely aware that she was staring again. Was it intentional? Most likely. He was that observant.

Focusing back on the task at hand, she undid the remaining buttons of his shirt, tugged it out of his trousers and helped him slip out of it before she dropped it onto the heap of clothing beside the bed.

He was left in a surprisingly modern tank top and his black trousers.

Her hands came to hover uncomfortably over his belt while she wondered if opening it would either be helping him or robbing him of his dignity.

Hell, she had begun this, she would see this through.

Grasping for the black leather strap, his voice made her freeze mid-action.

“I imagined this differently, you know?”

Forcing her petrification away, she pulled the belt free from its buckle.

“So did I. I mean, we succeeded in bringing Rufus back, but-”

“I was talking about you undressing me.”

She almost choked on her own breath and snapped her head up to find him smirking wearily, eyes half-lidded with fatigue. Had he just-? What was it with him and his innuendos to lighten the mood?

His face twitched as she pulled on his belt a bit harsher than intended.

Shaking her head, but not fully capable to suppress her faint watery smile, she slipped the belt from his trousers and patted his thigh.

“I think you can manage the rest. You’re a big boy.”

His face fell and it almost made her feel guilty. But she wasn’t yet willing to play along. Not with him in this condition. And with the confusing circumstances anyway.

“Lay down, get comfortable and I’ll be back in a minute with some tea and a wet towel.”

With a last gentle stroke of her thumb against the fabric of his trousers, she rose from her knees, searched through the lockers for something clean and comfortable to change into and left the room.

***

He watched her leave and the door shut with a click.

_Now that went well._

A shiver ran over his body and his heart clenched with the silence she left behind. How could he feel so right and terribly guilty all the same?

This was not how things were meant to develop, was it? She was meant to end up with Wyatt Logan. Be happy, marry him, have children of her own or whatever the future held for them.

Yes, the journal had spoken of their affair. Of a few weeks they enjoyed together, secretly seeking comfort in each other’s arms. Until she forgave Wyatt and Flynn – well, he accepted it, went along with it and eventually took the necessary steps for her to end that awkward love triangle and go on with her life without him in it.

She wasn’t meant to care for him the way she did. And he wasn’t sure of being allowed the way he cared for her.

_We'll never get back the people we love, will we?_

Her words resonated within his hazy mind.

Stripping out of his trousers and throwing them on the growing pile, he slid under the blanket and rolled onto his side. _  
_

_Only if we give up hope._

What a dull answer to give. Hollow and barely comforting. Even more so if he thought back to that cursed night in São Paulo. To her words. How she apologized to him, her voice breaking, when he had asked her about his family. He squeezed his burning eyes shut, buried his face against the cool pillow.

_I know somehow, some way, we’ll save the people we love._

He’d meant that with all his heart. He’d meant to save them. But he had failed them. Lorena and Iris. His wife and his little girl. He had failed them and lost them, never to be found again. He had rioted, revolted against this cruel reality. Over and over again. He had denied the horrible truth, fought himself through history recklessly, piling casualties wherever he went to undo it, reverse it, to only have them back in his arms.

But he’d failed.

And while a tiny piece of his mind still desperately clung to the hope to bring them back, would always, he had slowly learned to acknowledge it, live with it. To let go.

He never intended to cause so much destruction and death. To leave so much sorrow in the wake of his battle. But hell yes, he was hurting. Oh god he was. And he’d prayed – begged for answers – a way to follow. _Anything._

_What if he led you to me?_

_We have to stop trying to fix the past – and focus on the present._

He had been about to tell her, in Chinatown, what kept him by her side. And while he never got the chance to do so, it still blazed bright in his mind. -

He would not fail her. Not again. He would not fail the single good thing left in his life. The single person that made it worth to wake up every morning and keep on fighting. He would not, never, over his dead body, fail to protect his Lucy.

***

The corridors of their base were deserted. Everyone had withdrawn themselves to arrange with the new circumstances before their meeting. To rest and sort through their thoughts – and in Rufus’ and Jiya’s case – to reconnect.

Balancing a mug of tea in one and a bowl with cool water and a washrag in the other, Lucy opened the door to her patient’s temporary sleeping quarters with her elbow.

Shoving the door open with her shoulder and closing it behind her, she entered, and her lips quirked into a faint smile, when she was greeted with not-so-silent snoring.

She had taken her time showering and changing after Wyatt was done, giving Flynn the privacy to unwind and find whatever resting position he was comfortable in.

Apparently, it was on his left side, his back to the room, long legs drawn up to his body. And he was hugging his pillow. _Oh heavens, this man_.

Careful not to make any noise, she tiptoed through the room and set the steaming mug down on the shabby bedside table. Folding her legs beneath herself and setting the bowl down beside her, she lowered herself onto the bed across from him.

For a moment, she just enjoyed watching him sleep. He was still pale and lightly frowning in whatever dream he was caught in, still covered in a thin sheet of sweat, but he was alive and by her side and she was grateful for just that. Leaning in on his sleeping form, she brushed the dark bangs from his forehead and, only hesitating for the blink of an eye, pressed a soft kiss to his heated skin.

Garcia Flynn, former archenemy, turned to ally then to friend.

What was he now to her? Ever since _Titanic_ she had been brooding over this simple question. Seeing him here before her, watching him sleep, she could not quite believe what the journal told her. That he was just here to be her support until –

She didn’t want to finish the thought. It seemed wrong in every possible way.

Not that anything in the journal was relevant from now on, was it? They had taken a different path. One that wasn’t considered within her future entries. And over the last few weeks she had grown so fond of his company. Of his humor and his ready wit. She had come to love those curved lines of laughter his earlier life had etched into his handsome face. Wait. _Love?_ No, she couldn’t be so sure of that yet. Those lines she had come to… _enjoy._

There were quite many things about him that she had learned to cherish. The way he wore his heart on his sleeve, even if he desperately tried to conceal it. Those tiny details that betrayed him. A twitch of his mouth. His tongue darting out to wet his lips. A lift of his brow, or him gnawing his cheeks when he was searching for words. A raise of his head when he told himself to be strong or the sass and dry jokes that he used to cover insecurities. Those gentle touches in between. His large hand on her back to guide her. Or a brush of his fingers against hers, to signal he was right behind her. Casual, platonic, so very innocent. But oh, so promising.

Deep in thought, she dabbed the washcloth into the chilly water and wrung it out.

Cautious, not to disturb his slumber, she gingerly wiped it over his brow, cheeks and stubbled jaw to clean away remains of their journey along with his sweat. Rinsing it out a second time, she draped it over his forehead. Somewhat the challenge with him lying on his side, but she managed. - After three attempts and some unintelligible mumble on his part.

Probably another language, she thought, as she leaned back on her hands.

Bilingual upbringing, she knew from his file. Croatian and English, hence the slight accent that grew heavier with fatigue or inattention. How would it sound when he read aloud? She tried to imagine it, a tinge of sadness sinking into her heart as she pictured him reading children’s books to his little girl for bedtime.

Setting the bowl of water aside, she sunk down onto the bed facing him. Maybe, just maybe, she was ready to take another step forward with him. Wherever it lead them to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've lost count how many times I've rewritten several parts of this chapter... I hope it does now answer expectations. :)
> 
> And I feel you, Flynn, I'm sorry. I've been sneezing and sniffling the entire week and my head is killing me. Maybe its my punishment for putting you through this. xD


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some more surprises await. :)

About half an hour later, Lucy obediently trotted to the lounge to meet the remaining bunker inhabitants for debriefing and clearing up the general chaos. Until now it seemed like their headlong maneuver had been working the way they hoped for. With minor inconvenient changes. The meeting would reveal if there were alterations that caused bigger difficulties aside from buying a new set of clothing and toiletries for Flynn. As she had lain beside him, she had pondered the situation.

If authorities firmly believed him dead, it meant nobody would be searching for him. It meant he was free to go wherever he wanted without the fear of being incarcerated again. He could, for safety’s sake, change his name, maybe simply take on his mother’s, and have a normal life after they had cleared this world of Rittenhouse. If he wanted. To her, however, he would always be Garcia Flynn. The name that now was so tightly woven into her own story.

She found the team already gathered around the tables and took her seat on Denise’s right.

“Flynn?” She asked warily but Lucy would not let herself be troubled by that.

“He’s sick and sleeping. In his condition he’d hardly be able to do something harmful. Wyatt can confirm it.”

In reality Lucy wasn’t all too sure about that. She knew his efficiency and willpower, even if he was hurt or otherwise restricted. But that was neglectable now. There was no reason for him to act up.

“And I can assure you,” Lucy added, to placate her further, “if you let him rest, he’ll cooperate if you feel the need to question him.”

Denise turned to Wyatt for his affirmation, which he gave without complaint. Lucy flashed him a tense but thankful smile. She knew fairly well he’d only done so on her behalf. His grudge against the other man ran deep and even if he had slowly learned to rely on him in battle, Wyatt would probably never see more than a comrade-in-arms in him. That was it.

Evidently disgruntled Agent Christopher let the issue drop. Even without Flynn present, there was enough to discuss.

“So, as far as I understood, you traveled back in time to take out Emma Whitmore. Former pilot and member of Mason Industries and apparently of Rittenhouse. And you said the decade she spent in Missouri was some kind of trial. - Proof of her loyalty to the organization. Is that correct?”

That was roughly it. Lucy confirmed and folded her hands on her lap. This was going to be a long meeting.

“Jiya already informed me that Emma was responsible for Rufus’ death in your reality.”

Lucy’s gaze flickered to said man, who seemed uncomfortable but aware of the fact that he had been dead. He must have talked it through with Jiya.

“And that she might have been responsible for the revival and initiation of Wyatt’s wife, Jessica Logan, into the organization.”

Wyatt perked up at that, his eyes wide and almost fearful as the conversation drifted to _her_.

“Is Jessica-?” he did not finish the question and left it hang in the air.

Lucy almost flinched at his intonation of her name. There still laid so much hope in this simple word, permeated by lingering trepidation.

Agent Christopher looked at him – and shook her head.

A storm of conflicting emotions browsed over Wyatt’s face. Grief, terror and relief. Emptiness was what it left in its wake. If he did not sit on the far end of the table, Lucy would have reached out to hold his hand. Send him some sign that he was not alone.

But the discussion went on unrelentingly.

***

“Rittenhouse has the Mothership?” Asked Lucy. “But how? If Flynn left it behind to hunt for Rufus, and Emma was dead - there was no other pilot besides Jiya and those two, was there?”

She left Fisher out of the picture. Even given the chance Rittenhouse had recruited him – it was unlikely the man would be able to pilot at all in his condition.

Connor fidgeted with his thumbs, not able to meet her eyes as he answered.

“I… might have disclosed some information to theoretically train another pilot in exchange for their extensive sponsoring.”

“You did _what?_ ”

He flinched, visibly uncomfortable under her inflictive glare.

“They pressured me. Nothing I can do to change that now, is there? Considering side effects and such.”

Lucy just shook her head in disbelieve. Connor was her friend. She trusted him. But he really should have grown himself a spine before things went south.

Overall, time seemed to be more forgiving than Lucy had feared. While most of the events had played out differently and in a slightly altered order, the outcome was largely the same. They had the Lifeboat; Rittenhouse had the Mothership. They had been travelling to take out sleepers wherever they could. They had still managed to get the Rittenhouse members arrested with Ethan’s help. But Rufus was alive.

For all they knew, Carol Preston was still leading Rittenhouse besides Nicholas Keynes. A discovery that had Lucy chilled to her bones. She didn’t want to face her again. She had grown up loving her mother, regardless of her teenage insubordination to break free of her grip. After her accident, she had crawled back into her childhood home to follow the path her mother laid out for her, just to discover that everything she knew about her family, her mother, consisted of lies and horrible secrets.

And then she had seen her die. She had stared into her so familiar eyes, terrified, that even in her moment of death, the only thing her mother had been thinking of was how she had failed to indoctrinate her daughter into her evil cult sooner. It had mentally torn her to pieces. She still pushed the memory away with all her might whenever it threatened to surface again.

And now she was _back_. That horrible ghost of a woman that claimed to love her. Probably _did_ in her own disturbingly twisted way.

Lucy grit her teeth, willingly unclenching her fingers beneath the table, forcing herself to breathe, relax. She was not alone in this. She had her team. She had Wyatt, Jiya, Rufus. Denise and Connor. And she had Flynn. They’d end this together. Side by side.

Denise’s voice brought her back to the present. Once, twice, she blinked. As did Wyatt and Jiya.

“Pardon?”

“I said you all should get some more rest. We’ll work out the rest tomorrow. I called Amy before we began, she’ll be here with some pizza in a few min-“

“Stop,” said Lucy, her voice quivering as she was not quite believing her ears. “Stop right there. _Who_?”

“Amy,” repeated Denise, the confusion on her face was slowly replaced by dawning comprehension. “Your sister. She was out to gather some groceries for the base while you were traveling.”

“Oh my god…,” breathed Lucy before speech left her entirely.

***

"So, anybody care to explain why I had to pick up clothes for an apparently giant male on my way back? Did Wyatt have some sudden sort of growth spurt or something?"  
  
Lucy could do nothing but stare as her sister set down bags of groceries on the floor of their rundown kitchen-lounge combination.  
  
"Amy," she breathed as her sister raised her head to look at the assembled group.  
  
"You look like you've seen a ghost - wait, you haven't, have you? Because in that case, I'll move oUT-"  
Her last syllable turned into a yelp, as Lucy threw both arms around her neck and pressed her against herself. Almost two years since she had heard her voice, her witty remarks, seen that grin. Two years and she had been on the brink of giving up on it.  
  
"Luce, you're - smothering me - what's gotten into - you?"  
Amy spluttered against her shoulder and reluctantly Lucy took a step back, just to cup her sister’s face in both her hands. She was back. Not just some phantasm of her exhausted mind. Really back and alive!  
  
"Wait - are you crying?" Amy's brows knitted together, throwing crinkles of confusion on her forehead. Slowly a tinge of anxiety crept into her voice. "Guys? What did I miss? What happened?"  
  
  
***  
  
  
It was only Amy, Lucy and Wyatt that had remained around the table. The rest of the team had snuck away to their respective quarters with their share of pizza to grant them the chance to speak in privacy. Wyatt, who had no other choice but to stay, sat beside them, quietly munching on his slice of salami pizza.  
  
"So... that Emma woman made sure you would not get me back?"  
Amy concluded and Lucy nodded ruefully.  
  
"We never managed to undo however she had messed with our past. Never even got the chance to. Seems like we did in this - well, in this reality."  
  
Amy regarded her curiously.  
"So that basically means you're my sister, that I've known for my whole life, but not the Lucy that climbed into the Lifeboat a few days ago. In all honesty... that is rather..." She frowned, searching for a word to describe her inner tumult.  
"... unsettling."  
  
Lucy picked up the edge of her own piece of pizza and let it flop back onto her plate with a nod. Unsettling. She could imagine that.  
  
"So."  
She snapped her head up to the sudden giddiness in Amy's voice.  
  
"Why don't you tell me about yourself then? The last few months - What have you been up to? Besides erasing Rittenhouse of course. Any new hobbies? Relationships?"  
  
Leaning forward and propping her chin up on both hands, Amy broadly grinned at her.  
"I'm all ears, do tell."  
  
Lucy opened her mouth, closed it again, quirking her brows. Well, Amy was right. They were sisters after all. Why not just accept that and catch up to each other? Simply be happy that she was here? There was just this tiny nagging voice in the back of her head. That whisper she was not able to hush. _What if she's like Jessica? What happened to their mother’s cancer? What if Carol just placed her here intentionally? If she's just gathering intel? Or is about to poison us?_

Unconsciously she glared at her untouched pizza with growing distrust. Her eyes wandered to Wyatt then and she could read it on his face that he shared her worry. Still, he waved his hand as if to say _'Go on, pretend I'm not here'_.  
Pressing her lips together, Lucy took a deep breath through her nose and decided. Minor information then. Nothing involving plans or Rittenhouse in general. Just until she was sure.  
  
"Alright, yes. There isn't much to tell, though," she began, and Amy tilted her head curiously.  
  
"Apparently, we've - I've mostly been busy with our missions. I read a few books. I... practiced cooking when nobody was watching."  
  
Amy snorted. "Don't try that on me. I don't trust you on that. I want to live."  
  
Lucy grumbled. "I did. Not that there was much else to do around here. I had to sit through a Star Trek marathon with Rufus and Jiya-"  
  
"So did I," noted Amy, chuckling. "Seems you can't avoid that in either reality. TNG?"  
  
Lucy, slowly letting herself get infected by Amy's cheerfulness, snorted.  
"Probably? The one with the bald guy. Picard, I think?"  
  
Amy nodded enthusiastically.  
"Bet you liked that one. History geek, courteous, sophisticated-"  
  
"And much too old."  
  
"Well, I'll give you that."  
  
Both giggled, completely ignoring the slightly disturbed face Wyatt pulled as he groped another piece of pizza from the carton.  
  
"So, relationships?" Asked Amy, calming from her fit of giggles. With a miniscule nudge of her shoulder, she indicated Wyatt. The man did not miss her tiny gesture.  
  
Lucy sobered up at that and leaned back in her chair.  
"No relationships."

Raising her brows, Amy now studied both of them with open curiosity, not bothering to hide her interest.  
"How come?"  
  
Seeing that Lucy did not seem to come up with an answer, he took the burden from her.  
"The road of relationships was a bit... bumpy. For all of us."  
  
Spying the hurt in his eyes, Amy let him off the hook and nodded in understanding.  
"Okay, I won't pry. But there's still a question nobody answered me yet."  
  
Wyatt and Lucy both raised their heads, eager to change the topic.  
  
"Who did I buy clothes for?"  
  
  
***  
  
  
Peeking her head through the gap first, Amy cautiously followed Lucy through the door into the room that she knew as Lucy’s and Wyatt’s. But, obviously, there was no Wyatt in bed. There was, as Lucy had promised, Garcia Flynn.

“No way,” whispered Amy as she took a tentative step closer and set the bag of clothes down beside the bed. Gnawing her lower lip, she studied the sleeping man for a few heartbeats before sneaking back to the door to meet Lucy.

As Lucy shut the door behind them quietly, she watched her sister release a tense breath.

“Sorry, but this is really, _really_ weird. For all I know that guy in there, snoring like a lumberjack, is the one responsible for me disappearing in the first place. Isn’t he?”

“Well, accidentally. But yes.”

No quite sure on what to do with her nervous hands, Lucy swung them a few times and folded them in front of her chest to keep them still. How was she meant to explain this? She believed Flynn, that it had never been his intention to hurt her on purpose by making Amy disappear.

Over the entire time, he had never lied to her. Not even when she had still considered him the enemy. He had been secretive, had never revealed everything he knew, true. But what he said was always the truth. He had been nothing but outright honest with her.

“Accidentally? - How can you _accidentally_ erase a person from existence?” Amy hissed, gesticulating to the door with both hands. The frown on her face deepened with every word.

“He’s – I really don’t know what to say.”

Unfolding her arms, Lucy raised her hands in a soothing manner. She, confusingly enough, found herself taking half a step between her sister and the door.

“I know, Amy, I know. I don’t know what Denise told you about him. What we all told you about him before this. But I _promise_ you, he is _not_ a bad man. He won’t hurt you or me or any of us. He’s here to help. And I want to help him. And as we were just speaking of it-”

She almost had to snort at the realization that struck her. Why was it all so terribly incomprehensible?

“Considering he came up with the idea for our last mission, he is, kind of accidentally, responsible for ‘un-erasing’ you as well.”

Amy narrowed her eyes, stared at her sister for a long moment – until her tension dissolved. At least partially. Did she trust her words, or did she just shove it away, so she did not have to think about it?

“Lucy,” she began, shaking her head with a sigh. “I know I said you’d have to be a bit more rebellious and outgoing. That you should make your own future. But sharing quarters with criminals now?”

She smirked wryly.

“That may take it a bit too far just to score off mom.”

Nudging Lucy in her ribs and lacing one arm through hers, her smile grew more candid with an idea that visibly lightened her mood.

“Say, what do you think of a movie? I’ve got enough of mind twisting time travel for one day and I bet Wyatt won’t mind if we seize the sofa for a bit longer.”

Contemplating, Lucy cast another glance at the door to Flynn’s provisory room. He was soundly asleep. And how could she say no to her sister? She was finally back, as unbelievable as it seemed. With a content smile Lucy nodded.

“If you make it some relaxing comedy, I’m in.”

***

Disney’s Robin Hood was playing on the TV with its volume low. A childhood favorite both, Lucy and Amy, had watched ad nauseam all those years ago, curled up on the sofa beneath their favorite quilt.

Neither of them had actually paid attention to the movie running now. Instead Lucy had taken her turn in questioning Amy while Wyatt had fallen asleep on the other couch throughout the first few scenes. _How did he do that?_

Apparently, Amy had spent her time in the bunker with mostly every task that neither of them had found the time to fulfil. And as she spoke, Lucy came to notice what she meant. This bunker didn’t seem quite as rundown as the one she remembered. There were cushions on the sofas. A few chipped walls had been repainted in lighter colors. She spotted a wall calendar with pictures of owls and the fridge was covered in photos and colorful sticky notes with motivational quotes. Generally everything seemed… cleaner. Amy even had brought in some old Nintendo Wii console and assured her that some rounds of baseball and bowling had saved them from drowning in sorrow once and again.

She had never traveled in time with them. By her own choice and much to Lucy’s relief. She left that to the professionals, she had claimed with a laugh. Soon she had taken up the task to provide the team with anything necessary to live. A little thrill once in a while, leaving the safe house (in company of a guard of course) to get some groceries and whatever she found to make their base a bit more homely. And she had done such a great job with it already. Lucy could do nothing but bask in the joy of having her back and worry slowly thawed away.

While King Richard on the TV mirthfully declared that he had now an ‘outlaw for an in-law’, Lucy finally felt exhaustion overpower her. Suppressing a yawn and leaning against her sister’s shoulder, she let the last scenes of the movie play out in silence. One of the movies in which she could blissfully ignore the many discrepancies from actual history without blinking an eye, just to enjoy the happy ending for Robin and Maid Marian.

Before falling asleep right there and then, however, she sat up, stretched her back and announced that she’d be going to bed. As alluring it was to just close her eyes and let sweet sleep seep in, she did prefer a bed after their travel though past Missouri. Even if it was just some old military cot. Even that was a luxury compared to spending the night on freezing soil or rock.

Still wide awake, Amy sunk back against the armrest, regarding her sister with a gaze that Lucy was not yet able to fully decipher. A strange mixture of nosiness and alarm.

“You could use my room if you want,” she offered, “I don’t mind sleeping here. Wyatt’s not bad company. And he doesn’t snore. Usually.”

Now Lucy did understand and shook her head gratefully with a mild smile.

“No, thanks. I’ll be alright. I was going to look after him anyways.”

Since nobody else does, apparently.

Flynn had spent enough time forlornly licking his own wounds over the past years. He wouldn’t do it again as long as she had a say in the matter.

They looked at each other, carefully gauging if it was wise to discuss this now. Amy clearly sensed there was more behind it than just her sister’s persistent tendency to aid people in need. No matter how long they had spent apart, the unspoken communication worked as ever. With a curt nod, Amy gave in and offered an apologetic smile.

“Okay. Your choice. Do whatever makes you happy.”

Wisely, Lucy chose not to react to her choice of words and just hugged her good night, before walking along her to their respective quarters. After Amy had closed the door behind herself, Lucy let out a breath she had not noticed holding. It was a happy one overall, but still laced with wariness. She was torn back and forth. Her sister was _alive_. Just like she remembered her. And she felt so utterly delighted with that. But on the other hand, after all they’d survived, it did seem too good to be true. She pleaded, to whatever entity listening in, that this, for once, was a lucky coincidence and not some ill-natured Rittenhouse plot, that had yet to be uncovered.

Arms slung around her own frame against the chilly bunker night, she meandered through the corridors beneath flickering fluorescent lamps until she reached the door to her newly shared bunkroom. So much for not letting it become a habit to fall asleep by his side. The difference was – by now that very concept didn’t seem all that questionable anymore. Flynn had become her calm anchor in the storm raging on.

She was about to open the door when she halted, made up her mind and raised her hand to knock instead. Soothing effects on her emotional stability and sleeping pattern aside, they were still just friends. Friends that had kissed in a heated moment, overwhelmed by emotions beneath the cloak of night. But still _friends_ with certain boundaries. At least that was, what she kept telling herself to call a halt to the foggy weight of remorse spreading in her stomach. She could not even define its source. Whenever he was around, she felt nervously good. Almost giddy sometimes. But once she was alone, doubts crept in, seized her heart, remembered her of who he was and how they had started off. What he had done to her and she to him. Could she really put that all behind herself and accept it? Could one build a functioning relationship on it? Did she even want that? Did he?

A rustle from the inside made her aware how long she had been standing and staring at the door’s flaking paint. Should she just turn around and take up Amy’s offer?

Another rustle resounded from within, followed by some unintelligible, but familiar grumble. Throwing doubt to the wind, Lucy raised her hand and knocked.

A hum of acknowledgement came from inside and she opened the door a crack to slip through.

As she stepped into the dimly lit room hesitantly, she found Flynn sitting on the side of his bed in some black sweatpants. The seams barely covered his ankles. But who was he to complain? He would consider himself lucky to have some clothes as all. Curious on what Amy had gotten for him, Lucy inched a bit closer. A few torn off price tags laid crumpled by his bare feet. Evidence that he’d found at least some items to keep already. Without looking at her he tugged a multicolored handful of shirts from the bag and held them up to get a closer look. He didn’t need to check who had entered. By now he could tell from the way she knocked. And he rarely got any other visits anyway.

“Whoever bought these sure likes to go about their life as vibrant like a neon sign.”

Lucy couldn’t suppress a chuckle. Vibrant. A description fitting her sister rather well. But as hard as it was to keep from blurting it out, she’d wait and not bring her up yet. He did still look like on his last leg and she wouldn’t want to bother him with overthinking. Which he would, in some way, she was sure of that.

Picking a bold orange shirt from the collection, he scowled and stuffed it back into the bag to retrieve an ash grey one instead.

Catching Lucy’s questioning gaze, he shrugged his shoulders.

“Not my color. Makes me look pale, don’t ya think?” He explained curtly with a halfhearted grin as he laid the shirt beside him and pulled the sweaty tank top over his head to throw it onto the pile of dirty clothes.

Catching on, she uncomfortably bit her lip. Right. Prison issued overalls had probably scarred him for life with that color.

 _Don’t stare_ , she reminded herself as he reached for the shirt of his choice. But she couldn’t help it. Not with the fading bruises and scratches scattering his torso. Remains of their fight for survival on Titanic. Of every fight before that.

Slowly she rounded the double bed, barely catching a glimpse on the long greenish shadow stretching over the length of his back, before it was covered by clean grey fabric.

She could just about remember the reason for this particular fading bruise. The exact moment the ship had crashed into the iceberg. It was all a blur now, muddled by shock and hectic of the entire experience. She had been thrown into his arms, felt the impact of his spine hitting the doorframe. He had never even mentioned it after.

It awkwardly reminded her of the day she had asked for a bunny when she was younger. A vivid memory of her mother’s parenting.

_If you want to own a bunny, Lucy, you’ll have to treat it right. I bought a few books. Read them and inform yourself. When you’re done, we’ll speak about it again._

She had read them, thoroughly, and stumbled over one aspect that had burned itself into her memory:

 _B_ _unnies developed strategies to hide diseases and pain from their peers. They behave as inconspicuously as possible with injuries, suffer silently and avoid showing their physical disorders to other animals over a very long period of time. When the time to die has come, they separate themselves from the group, to ensure their safety…_

Insufficient to say, Lucy had never bought a bunny.

Swallowing heavily and dispelling the gloomy memory, she sat herself on the bed’s other side, waiting for him to turn his attention to her.

Carefully she changed the subject.

"You shouldn't wear that unwashed,” she pointed out unhelpfully and internally facepalmed for the insignificant remark. As if he didn’t know - Albeit she still added, “allergies and whatnot."

He turned his head, regarded her over his shoulder, one brow raised.

"Thanks for the concern but nah. At least its clean. Unless you want me sleeping naked.”

Lucy felt her face heat at his suggestion and quickly reminded herself that he was sick and feverish and thinking about him like this was completely inappropriate. And most likely he was still just joking. He was - was he?

Thankfully, he was staring at the heap of dirty clothes now, blissfully unaware of her reaction to his words.

“With all the stolen mucky, reeking clothes we've been running around in, it’s a miracle none of us ‘s caught scabies or worse."

To that she cringed, all intimate imagines wiped cleanly from her mind.

"Ew, gross. Thanks for the reminder. Now I’ll be scratching imaginary itches all night."

He smirked at that.

“De nada. You’re gonna stay here tonight?” He drawled on, voice croaky, as he stuffed the remaining new shirts into the bag. Lucy was startled by the uncertainty evident in his question. They had shared a room before. This was nothing new.

“If you don’t mind?”

He huffed and turned over, facing her.

“I might be infectious,” he pointed out instead, evading her question.

“Little late for that.”

After spending the past days and nights in his close vicinity (and kissing his forehead without his knowledge), it didn’t really matter anymore. Slouching back against the crackling wall paint behind the headboard, she leaned over to peer into the mug of tea she’d left for him. Half of its content was gone. Beside it stood the bowl of water complete with washrag. Telling from the coat of grime and damp dust on its surface, he had used it to for a cat bath after his waking.

Her eyes then caught on a paperback lying askew in the slim gap between both bunks. The cover, as well as the title, clearly gave it away as some tawdry romance story. Scrunching up her face, she pointed at it.

“What’s _that_?”

He followed her outstretched index to the trashy novel and if she wasn’t mistaken – were his ears tinging red? She blamed it on the fever.

“Sorry. Had to get my mind off… things. Grabbed the first book I saw, guessing it might be yours. Well, it won’t be Wyatt’s so –” He stopped himself, picking up the novel and turning it in one hand. He looked back up at Lucy. “Or is it?”

Both stared at the book in question, then at each other again.

“I’d _never_ read that,” declared Lucy firmly. And they both burst into a fit of muffled snickers.

“Don’t you dare to bring that up around him,” she chuckled, as she plucked the book from his hands to leaf through the pages.

“I won’t patch you up, if he punches you again.”

“Cross my heart,” he vowed before turning away and thunderously sneezing into the crook of his arm.

“Alright. That’s my cue.”

Lucy rolled from the bed and padded across the room to put Wyatt’s guilty pleasure back in its place in the dusty cubbyhole.

Traipsing back to her bunk, she caught Flynn’s questioning gaze with a smile.

“ _Sleep,_ Flynn. Get better and you can read as much of Wyatt’s trashy novels as you can stomach.”

Swiftly she switched off the flimsy bedside lamp and slumped down onto the mattress beside him. From somewhere on her right, his hoarse voice reached her ears through the dark.

“Not my preferred reading material.”

With a smile she closed her eyes.

“You’re not getting another diary, mister.”

She felt him roll over, the bedframe creaking beneath his solid body as he did.

“There’s more?”

“Just sleep.”

“Oh, come on, you cannot withhold such crucial information. Is there?”

Turning over and opening her eyes, she barely made out his silhouette, supported up on one arm and looming above her body. Blindly reaching up, she gently shoved against his shoulder to make him lie down again.

“Lucy.”

She smiled warmly against her pillow.

“ _Loocy._ ”

“Good night, Flynn.”

***

Lucy hit her head hard on the pole that served as the bunk’s headboard as the jump alarm went off.

With a pained squeal, both of her hands shot up to her forehead, fingers curling against the throbbing pain in her skull.

Quietly whimpering she sat up with more care to avoid the threatening metal trap in the semi-dark. Flynn was groaning by her side, dragging the pillow over his head to ward off the piercing howl of the alarm bells. He possibly hadn’t even noticed her accidental collision with the bedframe.

Crawling closer to him, Lucy spied the orange glow of digits on a digital display over his shoulder. Squinting she read the time: 4:38 AM.

“Oh god, why?” She lamented as she prodded her bunkmate’s arm with two fingers. “Flynn? _Flynn?_ ”

Grunting, he tugged the pillow from his ears, dropped it and propped himself up on both forearms with his still eyes squeezed shut.

“I’m up, I’m up. Not that there’s any other choice with this _BLARING ALARM!_ ”

Bellowing out the last few words against the noise, he ended up coughing viciously before dropping back to his bed flatly.

“Death by sleep deprivation,” muttered Lucy as someone, thankfully, had mercy on them and turned off the wailing noise. “That’s how they’ll end us.”

With another groan, Flynn rubbed both palms over his face, threw back the blanket and heaved his legs over the side.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Asked Lucy incredulously as she watched him stand up and stretch his limbs.

“Lifeboat.”

“Flynn, no.”

“Flynn, _yes_.”

Rounding the bed promptly she planted her feet firmly on the ground before him with determination, arms akimbo.

“You can’t seriously consider going on a mission like that.”

Reaching out her hands with spread fingers, she indicated his body from tip to bare toe.

“You’ll develop pneumonia, or get yourself shot, or drop dead from fever before we’ve even found _a hint_ to a sleeper.”

“I appreciate your worry, Lucy, but I didn’t intend to go with you. I just want to know when and where you’re off to and why.”

“Oh,” she muttered, scanning his face and relaxing slightly as she found honesty in it. “Well – Well then – at least…”

She scurried off to rummage through a locker that contained, as she had detected earlier on, her underwear.

“At least wear these,” she said triumphantly, as she retrieved something from within the metal drawer.

She chucked a bundle of deep red wool to him and he caught it clumsily in the twilit room.

“Socks.” He raised his head in mild surprise and shook out two oversized hand knitted woolen socks.

“Yes. They go on your feet.”

“Gee, thanks. I almost forgot that.” He mock wiggled his bare toes against the cold concrete floor.

“Now get them on, Flynn, or I’ll personally wrestle you back into bed instead.”

“Oh, I’d love to see you try.”

***

Flynn trailed after her, hands burrowed deep into his pockets, sock-clad feet padding the floor quietly.  
But just as he was about to step out from the corridor and into the lounge, Lucy whipped around and halted him.  
  
Both hands flat against his chest, she stared at her outspread fingers and he wondered briefly if she was trying to set a record today - stopping him whatever he was about to do.  
  
Ducking his head, he tried to get a glimpse of her eyes, but she refused by lowering them even further.  
  
His brows drew together in growing discomfort. What was this about now?  
Not making any effort to conceal his worry, he murmured her name.  
Heated discussions carried over through the empty hallway that he could not quite understand. By now the cold wasn't just robbing him of his sense of smell and taste, it also had efficiently decreased his range of hearing. The conversation reached him dully, as if he had somnambulantly stuffed both his ears with cotton balls.  
  
Apparently steeling herself, she raised her head and faced him with what he interpreted as a gaze one would offer when telling their child their hamster had died. Preparing himself for god knows what, he listened.  
  
"I probably should have told you earlier, but I know if I did, you probably wouldn't have slept a minute."  
  
That didn't sound too appealing. He tensed, tipped his head to the side as she spoke on.  
  
"We did change something major when we were in Missouri. So there are a few alterations to this timeline other than Rufus being alive and you being… well, dead."  
  
Why couldn't she just spit it out? Where was she going with this?  
  
"Amy's back."  
  
He blinked a few times, opened his mouth, closed it with a frown. Not what he expected. Far from what he expected. What the hell?  
  
"And it seems she knows you accidently erased her."  
  
_Oh._  
  
"She probably can't stand you, so-"  
  
"Nothing new to me lately," he sneered weakly and straightened himself.  
"But I'm happy for you."  
  
Her incredulous expression indicated she did not really buy it. His brain was working double time, as he processed the new information along with her possible expectations. What _had_ she expected? A screech of joy? A snit fit that it was _just_ Amy that had miraculously come back to life? Some kind of emotional meltdown?

In all honesty, he _was_ happy for her. Incredibly so. But neither did he feel like celebrating physically, nor emotionally. Being irritated or even the least bit jealous was ridiculous. Still…

Strike that. – He was baffled but glad. Nothing else. He would not allow himself to feel anything else but happy for her, now that she got her sister back. If anyone deserved it, it was her after being pulled into this whole mess and dealing with his own damned incompetence to do things right.

So, rolling his eyes playfully and summoning a crooked smile he laid both hands on her shoulders.  
  
"Believe me, I am. Just not in the shape to perform a dance of joy."  
  
She stared at him blankly. He wiggled his brow in response, pointing one finger to it.  
"That enough?"  
  
This, at least, earned him a frisky slap to the shoulder as she concealed her smirk.  
  
"Now let's get over with this, before Rittenhouse does the evil deed ere the mighty heroes arrive."

***

All eyes fell on Lucy expectantly as she entered. Flynn followed close behind, towering over her lithe frame like a gloomy shadow. The reactions he received were unconcealed.

Upon their entering, Rufus began to awkwardly shuffle his foot until Jiya nudged his ribs sharply. Wyatt barely nodded in greeting before focusing on Lucy. Agent Christopher glowered and he was sure, if gazes could kill, he’d drop dead the very moment. Mason just pretended he wasn’t there at all.

Then his eyes fell upon the one new face in the group. New being relative because the expression she wore blatantly resembled Lucy’s stare of fierce determination.

Facing him straight on, Amy forced a tiny wave. Which didn’t lessen the impression that she was either about to punch him or run out of the room if he dared coming a step too close. Maybe both.

Taking his place beside Lucy, shoulders slouching, he flashed Amy an, what he hoped to be, apologetic but friendly smile. Telling from the nervous twitch of her lips, it was not remarkably successful. He’d need to take her aside and properly talk to her later. He would have preferred to have Lucy with him when he did, but given the circumstance that she was about to be whisked away for a mission, he did not have much choice in that matter.

“Alexandria?” Lucy piped up beside him and he focused on the conversation.

“ _47 BC?_ ” He perked up his ears at that, stunned.

“I- well,” Lucy began, closing her eyes to hunt through her memory before she shook her head.

“That’s not really my field of expertise. I have some basic information, though. In September of 48 BC the Siege of Alexandria was fought between Julius Caesar and Achillas. Cleopatra the seventh and her brother Ptolemy, who she was also married to, were co-reigning Egypt then. Caesar sided with Cleopatra, which he had aforegoing begun a liaison with. Her sister Arsinoe, who had escaped from Caesar’s retreat and hostage-taking of the royal family, sided with Achillas however. It was, to shorten things a bit, a terribly complicated debate over the claim to the throne, distribution of power in general and family matters including murder and love affairs. It all came to a head within that battle. Caesar emerged the winner beside Cleopatra. They travelled Egypt together for a few weeks after that before they settled in one of his mansions along the Tiber.”

“In all honesty,” Wyatt broke her flow, “I couldn’t follow all of that and yes, it sounds horribly complicated – but what would Rittenhouse _want_ there? They’ll hardly take a trip for some late-night pyramid gazing.”

“Truthfully? I have no idea.” Lucy hunched her shoulders and let them drop in defeat. “It’s nearly impossible to tell what trail of consequences a simple alteration would entail. The timespan is simply too wide to foresee the outcome.”

Rufus' voice cut through the ensuing silence.  
"So, what're we gonna do? None of us speaks hieroglyphics, right? Not even our coughing assassin over there."  
  
Flynn quirked a brow at the jesting oxymoron.  
Ignoring it, he cleared his throat and corrected instead.  
  
"It's Greek actually. The élite around Cleopatra's reign spoke Greek. The royal family was of Macedonian origin. Cleopatra was an illegitimate child between Ptolemy the twelfth and an unknown mother of most likely Egyptian descent. Therefore Cleopatra was the first to learn the Egyptian native language in a long line of Ptolemaic rulers."  
  
Now all eyes did rest on him and he fought the persistent itching urge to cough while being thoroughly stared at.  
  
"What?" He rasped.  
  
"Now we own two walking lexica? Wow," sniggered Rufus and Jiya chuckled beside him. "Convenient, isn't it?"  
  
Denise's annoyed words cut over their banter mercilessly.  
"Alright, enough befriending the new housemate. Unless Rittenhouse has a sleeper fluent in Old Greek, we can assume that whatever they have planned can be carried out without verbal communication. Which means we can put an end to it just as well. Be it poisoning Julius Caesar before he was stabbed or seducing Cleopatra, we need to prevent it. Lucy, Wyatt, Rufus and Jiya will go. Try to blend in and find and eliminate the person that doesn't fit."  
  
Straightening in unison, all four team members readied to board but Flynn reached out to clasp Lucy's shoulder by instinct before she had the chance to run off. Obliging to his unspoken communication, she spun around and peered up at him through long dark lashes. He'd lose himself in those eyes one day... but right now, right here he fought the pressing need to tug her into his chest and shelter her safely in his arms. Her going off on a mission all by herself without his protection was a thought more than unsettling. _Damn hell_ , when had he become so _protective_ of her?  
  
Acutely aware that the remaining team was eyeing them with undisclosed doubt, he left his hands hover awkwardly beside her body.  
  
"Be careful," he offered blandly and noticed her swallow with restraint. He could not let her leave like that, could he? Quickly deciding against it, he bit the bullet and wrapped her in his arms. Quick and painless. Eyes squeezed shut, one deep inhale against her hair, awfully devoid of her familiar scent, and he let go off her.  
  
To his delight, the corners of her mouth twitched into a small smile.  
"Will be. And you get well."  
Squeezing his hand once more, Lucy turned away to join the waiting team. As she passed Amy, she leaned in and pointed at Flynn over her shoulder, whispering something meant only for her sister's ears. Both shared an intense moment of staring, then a smile, and off she was, swiftly climbing the stairs into the Lifeboat.  
  
He just stood there and stared in discontent as the hatch closed behind her and the time machine took off without him.  
  
Closing his eyes against the sweeping gush of dusty wind, he willed away the lingering trepidation to face the oncoming hours of sickening loneliness within this gloomy government bunker among people that’d rather have him chained to a radiator than wandering around freely.  
  
Would he talk to Amy now? He pondered the question before deciding against it. It was about five in the morning and a creeping sense of nausea told him that crawling back into bed was the wiser choice.  
  
"I'll..." He began to announce, pointing behind him, "go get some more shut-eye. Sick and stuff."

Agent Christopher folded her arms morosely, as she stepped down from the control panel. She seemed to have a few things to say but thought better of it and waved him away with a sigh.

Not passing on the opportunity, he spun on his heel and shuffled back to his somberly empty room.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lot of thing are going on in this chapter, which will be hopping back and forth between the bunker and Egypt. Reflections of feelings, some nice and some absurd dreams, traumatic experiences and new and unexpected friendships might grow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you go on reading, I want to thank you all for leaving Kudos and comments! I didn't get to respond yet, but I read them all and you keep me motivated! Two more chapters to until the second part of this series will be completed. The third and final part will lead to the much desired happy ending for Garcy. I can promise that much! :D

Lucy fidgeted with her buckles under probing gazes.

“What was that about?” Jiya spoke up and Lucy stilled her struggle.

“Playing house wherever you go, sharing quarters. Goodbye cuddles now?”

She didn’t even try to hide the amusement behind her words and Lucy was just very glad that none of them had witnessed their display of affection after being fished from the icy ocean by _Carpathia’s_ crew.

“He’s doing good, isn’t he?” She responded flatly. “I think he’s earned himself a hug once in a while.”

“I’d rather hug a rabid grizzly,” muttered Rufus before the Lifeboat’s rising noise made verbal communication impossible. Still Lucy caught Wyatt’s expression of smoldering discontent before they took off and her innards swooped violently for more reasons than the compression of space and time around them.

***

Flynn knew he should go and get cleaned up. Pick some fresh clothes, hop under the shower – a cool one considering he felt like his brain was simmering inside his skull – and get something light and nutritious between his teeth. Instead he flopped back onto his cot as graceful as a cut down tree.

Lying flat on his belly, feet and one arm dangling off the mattress, he waited for vertigo to subside before he dared dragging his remaining limbs back into bed.

With growing contempt, he eyed the thin woolen sheet and contemplated if he was willing to cover himself. As he did, his glare fell upon the empty bunk beside his own. Halfheartedly he reached out one arm and draped it across the now cool surface. The tips of his fingers graced the oversized sleepshirt that Lucy had discarded behind his back before they'd hurried to meet the others in the hangar. Without a second thought, he hooked one finger into the sleeve and pulled it to himself until he could nuzzle the tip of his nose against the soft fabric.

“Be safe…” He murmured, closing his eyes.

It had been so tempting once she had fallen asleep by his side. He had imagined it a few times over the scarce hours she had peacefully dreamt beside him. That he'd only have to turn over, throw his arm across her waist and pretend he was sleeping. As easy as that. Or he'd be honest – inch closer to her, rouse her with soft strokes of his fingers against her shoulder. Then pull her against himself and into his embrace. Tuck her head beneath his chin and hold her close against his heart. Hell, he'd even envisaged it the other way around. How she would play with his hair, snuggle against his back, absurdly making him the little spoon with her nose buried between his shoulder blades.

It was rather alarming how starved one could become for the tiniest touch of friendly physical contact. But given how miserable he felt…

Instead of acting on his wishes, he'd been lying there, staring holes into the darkness in guilty silence. He could not deny it, his feverish brain supplied unhelpfully, that he was slowly but steadily falling for her. For really _her_. Not for some strangely distorted future Lucy that he'd learned to know through her journal, but for her. And it hit him like a ton of bricks. This was no longer just seeking solace in each other or the need to protect and care for a close friend – and be cared for, if he was at it. It was more than that.

When he'd first read about their ‘affair’ on her lead scribbled pages, he'd laughed. Not a friendly laugh, that was, but a compulsive and derisive thing. Learning that his future self could even consider it as an option to bond with Lucy while in another corner of this godforsaken world someone was carving the names of his wife and daughter into a tombstone – it made him sick to his stomach. Not that being sick was something he was eager to think about right now.

Over the following months that he'd spent preparing, reawakening old contacts and calling in favors to get his hands on the damned time machine, he had found himself intrigued. Looking back, he almost had to grimace at his own behavior. It had slowly become an appalling obsession. He had spent days and nights leafing through her journal, soaking up her words like a dry sponge thrown into a puddle. He'd memorized so many passages, in growing fear of losing it, his little ray of light, somewhere throughout the whole ordeal.

When he'd first met her, the real her, it was like a punch into his guts. Gone was the smart, gorgeous and impressively strong woman his brain had conjured up straight out of her magical little booklet. Replaced by Lucy, alive and breathing – and thoroughly fueled by utter revulsion to his mere existence.

Oh, he had been so annoyed with his stupid self and with her. So full of searing hatred for fate’s glaring injustice.

To let bygones be bygones – _oh, the irony_ – it had changed with every time they had stumbled into each other. From seeing her as his guideline, he grew to respecting her as an equal on any level, no matter which sides they stood on. Then she’d begun to tear away his carefully erected barriers. Stone by stone had crumbled under her sharp eye until she had glimpsed the soul behind. Lonely and longing for an outstretched hand to grasp and hold. She had extended that hand in spite of their differences and his gruesome deeds.

Right now, right here, he wished so desperately for her cool hands on his forehead. For her voice in his ear to hush his rampaging thoughts and tell him he'd - they'd be fine. Just this one little lie to make the lurking pain go away for a while.

He didn't know when he'd drifted off into feverish dreams. Somewhere in between pitying his own sorry ass – he allowed himself to do that once in a while – and silently pleading Lorena for her forgiveness to his apparent unfaithfulness. But he had. And he'd dreamt of his wife then. First of her stern face, scolding him relentlessly on how poorly he had treated the people around him and foremost himself. Then of her loving caresses, assuring him that he could and would do better. To make him understand that he deserved to be happy, even without her around to remind him of that whenever doubt crept out from that shadowy place within his chest.

Drifting in and out of consciousness, he once noticed the subdued patter of feet close by but couldn't place its source. It all weaved into his fevered illusions, blurred and speckled by spots of dulled lucidity.

He instinctively jerked away as some _one_ stuck some _thing_ cold into his ear, only to be swatted lightly against his shoulder

“Hold still, big man.” A barely familiar voice muttered in consternation.

“Jeez, now you're really burning up. Should've stayed in bed instead of lecturing us on languages. Are those Lucy’s socks?...”

Then he was back with Iris, setting up a tent on dried grass beneath the searing summer sun for their backyard camping adventure.

“Daddy!” She squealed, bouncing up and down on bare feet between the spread-out rain fly and two bundled up sleeping bags.

“Can we bring cookies into the tent?”

A grin spread across his face as he reached for the next tent pole with a nod. The prospect of sleeping in the crumbles his little cookie monster left behind wherever she went was not that compelling, but she had been so excited for days and he would live. She had pestered her mother the better part of the fortnight, asking if he was already on his way home and to make sure he had not forgotten about his camping promise. No matter where his next assignment took him across the globe, that overjoyed milk tooth grin kept his spirits up until he got home to pick her up and let her wrap her tiny arms around his neck.

As she dashed off to tell mommy she had gained the allowance for sweet baked goods, he sat back on his haunches to watch her leap over the doorstep in serene contentment. The placid picture was torn away.

“Can I get you to sit up somehow?”

He groaned as a determined force urged him to raise his upper body, acutely aware that every aching joint in his body complained against the action.

“Ne, ostavi me na miru-” He growled and ended up coughing as his dry tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth.

“Great, now he's talking gibberish. Get your butt back here Luce.”

“No gibberish…” He protested meekly and blinked against the light, not able to fully focus on his surroundings as he forced himself to sit up.

“Hey! Here I am!” Frowning, he turned his head woozily into the general direction of the overly joyful voice.

“While you're up, take this and drink.”

Doing as instructed, he submissively took the tablet between his teeth that was placed into the palm of his hand and gulped it down with a few sips of cool fluid. Refusing to drink the entire container, the nagging voice was back in his ears.

“I swear, if you don't drink, I'll give short shrift of this and get you hooked to an IV.”

“Radi što želiš…” He muttered under his breath as he dropped back down and dragged the pillow over his ears.

The next thing he heard was gunshots somewhere off in the distance. He’d have to get away, before they reached the house - Whoever _they_ were.

Scrambling through the living room, he looked beneath the table, crouched to reach beneath the couch, scratched his head. Where were his sneakers? He couldn’t run without his sneakers, could he?

***

Lucy was running as fast as bare feet could carry her across polished marble.  
Thoughts in her head were tumbling over each other as she skidded along a row of columns. Each impressive stone was spanning the width of a grown tree to support the heavy structure of palatial plafonds that she couldn't lose a spare glance for to marvel their beauty. Oh, how she would have loved to wander these corridors, gaze at the architectural wonder of foregone times.  
  
Instead she was running for her life.

How had their plan gone from daunting to impressive to life-threatening within such a short time?  
She dashed down a flight of stairs, almost collided into three servants carrying plates with tiny amounts of assorted fruit. With a shrill shriek, one of the women dropped her ewer, spilling precious water all over the floor. Lucy's feet splashed through the puddle without second thought, as she turned to the direction the women came from. There had to be some kind of way out for the servants. There!

A shine of glaring sun through the wall! She begged it was the same door she had been brought through on her way in. If so, then it led to a patio, which itself lead out onto the busy streets of Alexandria. If she would be just quick enough to evade the surprised guards!  
Almost there! Her lungs were burning with exertion.  
  
It had all gone so well! Until they were forced to split up-  
Their plan had been thought through. Rufus and Jiya fit perfectly into the setting. A bit of soot around her friends’ eyes, some fitting clothes and they merged right into the palace’s attendants. Rufus had not been too eager on acting as a guard and, therefore, an eunuch, but it fit. And apparently it worked. Not that anybody would actually check on it.

They had sneaked away fruit and vegetables from the market on the first two days, as well as two large linen bags. They even managed to get their hands on a carriage and whisked it away before its owner's furious curses reached their ears a few alleys away. After spending the night hiding from guards and prying eyes in general, they put their plan into motion.

It had cost Lucy tremendous effort to slip into one of the sacks and have Jiya tie it above her head. But again she reminded herself -

_Breath. Calm down. Fear is not what happens. All is under control._

The dagger strapped to her thigh helped immensely to prevent her hammering heart from jumping out of her ribs. If she needed to, she'd only have to cut the linen and run for it.  
  
She hadn't needed it. Not until they reached their desired destination, that was.  
All had gone according to plan. Just like Cleopatra had once done it, she and Wyatt had become cargo on the stolen cart.

Gripping Wyatt’s forearm - or what she hoped was his forearm - through two sheets of cloth, she had relied on her friends acting. Jiya and her protector, Rufus, had smuggled them right through the servant’s entry among a group of others with a fresh supply of food and 'beddings' for her majesty and her noble guest. Once sure that they were in some kind of storage room, Wyatt had nudged her through the bags, and she had sliced herself out of her linen confinement.  
  
Lucy had been just about to kiss his stupid face then. Not necessarily out of romantic reasons. Just because the relief of seeing his ruffled hair and sweaty face emerging from the bag beside her threatened to overwhelm her. Why was she so eager on kissing people in intense situations lately? But not this time. Just. No. Not again. Not _him_.

She had contented herself with a quick hug and a shared grin before they had freed themselves from their hiding place.  
The plan was to sneak around the palace unseen and gather any information that indicated Rittenhouse. Or spot the sleeper in person, if possible, and take him out before he could do any harm. It did sound easy.  
It really wasn't.

The palace wasn’t just huge and confusing, it was vast. And no matter which way they turned, it swarmed with guards and servants going about their duties. Keeping close to Wyatt’s side, Lucy managed to search through several rooms with him before the inevitable happened. They were about to slink off into the shadows after examining a study room when they were spotted.

They had turned and he just stood there. A young man, his arms full of an assortment of various scrolls of parchment, stared straight back at them with wide eyes. He asked something that neither Lucy nor Wyatt understood. Exchanging a quick glance, they decided. Just in time to dash off when the youngster crowed something down the hall that sounded suspiciously like either alarm or a cry for help.

She did not remember how she and Wyatt had split up. One moment he was there beside her. A few turns and evasive moves later, he was just gone. And panic bubbled in Lucy’s chest. She cried his name in a desperate attempt to locate him – nothing. She only succeeded in adding two more men to persecute her through the corridors.

To her own surprise, adrenalin pushed her body to peak performance and against her panicked expectations, there were only a few steps missing until she could leap outside. Still, she frantically turned in search of Wyatt, Jiya, Rufus. Any familiar face. An error she realized too late. Slipping on the wet marble, she careened straight into the wall beside the doorway. The next thing she remembered were hands. Hands everywhere. Vice grips mercilessly forcing her to the floor and then up and away. Her own screams echoed dreadfully in her ears as she was dragged off into the palace…

***

Flynn opened his eyes to the sensation of something cool and wet touching his forehead. He blinked a few times, wearily trying to clear his blurry vision.

“Lucy?” He asked into the dimly lit room, startled by the roughness of his own voice.

“Uh-uh. She’s off with Wyatt, Rufus and Jiya to Egypt, remember? Saving Cleopatra and her royal love life. Hey, tall, scary man – lie back down.”

He felt himself being pushed back into the pillow and finally managed to focus his eyes on the person beside him. Lucy’s little sister. His brain finally made the connection of voice to body and he realized that it must have been her who had sneaked around the room forcing him to take medication and drink every now and then.

“Scary?” He rasped, clearing his throat without much success. He hardly was scary or even the least bit intimidating in is current condition.

“Denise’s words. Surprisingly, you’re less scary than I thought you’d be. I just think you’re tall and grumpy. And rather handsome. But I wouldn’t lay a finger on what belongs to my sister, so no worries.”

He frowned, closing his eyes, not yet ready for the woman’s giddy attitude.

“I don’t belong-”

“Oh, love, believe me. You do. Now hush and sleep. Whatever you caught seems quite persistent. And I promised her to get you fit as a fiddle before she comes home.”

He would have rolled his eyes. If he was willing to keep them open. But he wasn’t. So he just turned his back on her, dragged the blanket over his head and groaned instead.

***

_Drip._ Lucy’s hair stood on end. _Drip._ She shuffled her foot against cold, damp stone. _Drip._ She leaned back. And bowed forward again, wrapping both arms around her bent legs. _Drip._ The silence in the cell stretched on. Only to be disturbed by the constant _drip_ of water somewhere along the torch-lit corridor. Whether it was intentional or not, it slowly drove her crazy.

When she had first been shoved into the tiny space, she had been shellshocked. Stumbling over the rough floor, she had collapsed into a shivering heap and bundled herself up into the farthest corner. When the door fell shut, all light that remained was the flickering shine of fire that filtered through the gap in the heavy wooden door. Barely enough to make out her surroundings.

Next, she had panicked. She could barely remember it, but it had taken over her entire body. She had thrown herself at the door, pounded her fists against the wooden surface.

“Let me out! _LET ME OUT!”_ She had yelled at the top of her lungs – to no avail. She wasn’t even sure if someone was near enough to hear her desperate cries.

After that, she had given in to her raging emotions. Sinking back into her corner, she had curled into a ball and wept. She didn’t know how long or how loud or even why. She just cried and cried until there were no tears left to fall.

She had not allowed herself to break down like this. Not among her friends. Not in the bunker, where she could have been heard. She was stronger than this. She _was_.

Slowly she reminded herself that it wasn’t entirely true. She had cried. In front of Flynn. In his arms. After he had taken the gun aimed at Emma out of her hands and held her close, uncaring of his own injury. Just to be there for her and shoo the shadows away.

She shuddered as fresh tears threatened to spill. Rubbing the back of her hand over her weary eyes and forcing herself to stand, she strode a few wide steps from her corner along the wall to the next. Three. She turned and took another couple of steps. Two and a half.

Taking a deep breath to steady herself and calm her pounding heart, she retreated to her corner and sunk to her knees.

Three steps in length. A bit more than two in width. That was it. _Drip_.

She buried her head between her knees, dug her fingers into her hair until it became painful. _Drip._

How long had she been in here? A few hours? Days? She wasn’t able to tell without the tiniest glimpse of sun- or moonlight. _Drip._

How long until somebody would come? Could she hope on rescue? She couldn’t even tell if the others were still alive.

She tore on her roots, ground her teeth violently. _Drip._

A sudden surreal fear seized her mind and gripped her heart with vigor. What if nobody came? What if she was left in this tiny damp cell and nobody ever came?

“Please…” She whimpered. “ _Please_ get me out of here…” _Drip._

***

Two days until his fewer had broken and his desire to sleep, and to that, dream had decreased significantly. Especially since the latter one had reawakened memories that he didn’t even know he carried until he had drifted off into another bout of feverish phantasms. Pleasant ones as terrifying ones.

Flynn now busied himself with reading – _not_ Wyatt’s collection of trashy novels, thank you very much – or listening to Amy’s gossip, whenever she sauntered in to pay him a visit.

He couldn’t deny that it was somewhat comforting, in the light of their personal history, that she didn’t seem to be as afraid of him as she should be – For all she knew, he was a time travelling killer who had erased her from existence. Still she apparently had made it her task to nurse him back to health. Which was, as she had made clear, thanks to Lucy. But still.

Apart from Agent Christopher, who had marched into the room once for interrogation – a little heads-up would have been great, but who was he to complain? – Amy was the only company he had.

Truth be told, after the Jessica-debacle he did not put any trust in her. That she hadn’t poisoned him with the medication yet spoke for her sincerity – but on the other hand, she wouldn’t gain anything from killing him now. If it did anything at all, it’d only blow her cover if Lucy – or, unlikely, anybody else – insisted on an autopsy. So, there was that.

But it wasn’t like he had the chance to talk much anyways. His throat was still sore and if she poked her head in, Amy was usually the one to carry their, mostly, one sided conversations.

***

The last time Lucy had felt this forlorn had been on the lifeboat out on the ocean while the cries of terror from the sinking Titanic had carried across the waves. She had felt useless, regardless of everything they had done. Still so much was lost to the dark abyss of the frigid sea. So many innocent lives. And she just sat there, staring at the horrific picture of destruction, not able to avert her eyes. Not until Flynn had forced her to.

The blurry memory kept rushing back, now that she was alone, cold and shivering again.

“Hey,” he had murmured after the boat had reached a sufficient distance to the sinking luxury liner. Far enough not to be drawn back and be sucked below the surface by waves and hidden vortexes.

She didn’t hear him at first. Didn’t realize he had laid his hand on her shoulder. She only recognized his presence when he kneeled right in front of her, blocking her line of vision with an expression of worry on his pale face.

“Hey, Lucy,” she could still hear him say, his voice almost drowned out by the far-off gurgle and warble of the greedy ocean.

“You did it.”

She had nodded, faintly, watching his futile attempt to form something vaguely akin to an encouraging smile.

The next thing she remembered was him wrapping himself around her trembling body, his fingers on her chin, gently urging her gaze away from the disaster and toward his face.

“Why don’t you tell me some more about Amy, hm?”

She had never questioned his intentions. She felt far too empty for that. Instead she had just given in, buried herself in his arms, while mumbling stories into his damp shirt, not caring that he wouldn’t understand a single word.

Coiling herself up tighter in her corner, she pressed her face into the skirt of her tunic. She couldn’t fool herself any longer, could she? Of all the things she could have wished for in these awful circumstances, it was him. So much it almost hurt. Not Rufus nor Jiya and their comforting words and banter. Not Wyatt in his ever so indecisive sway between possibilities. Not even Amy - she just could not bring herself to fully trust her.

Flynn. What she needed was stupid Garcia Flynn and his warm hugs, his understanding nature, his wit and humor, their weird nonverbal communication - just as much as his short temper, his raw anger and his pain. She wanted it. All of it. And if she got the chance - If she got out of here and back home – she’d wrap herself around it and never let him go.

***

Flynn sat in silence, scooping up another spoon of elderberry soup (a recipe he had picked up somewhere throughout his travels to Europe), as he absently listened to Amy’s chatter about repapering the common area.

He could sense their relation. Regardless of them being just half-sisters, having the same deranged mother, Lucy and Amy shared certain traits.

Not just in appearance, but also in behavior. Both were headstrong and outspoken, though Amy tended to be a tad more hotheaded. It did fit Lucy’s description of her being the rebel and troublemaker in the family. A characteristic that Lucy certainly carried within herself, but that her mother had stifled enough for it to only show up when she was desperate about something or into it wholeheartedly.

“Are you even listening?”

He froze, spoon hovering over his food as he licked his lips.

“Uh…”

“Really? Why do I even bother talking to you when you get that ‘far-away-gaze’? Which is a bit creepy actually. I’ve been wondering what you’re thinking about. Is it butterflies? Is it murder?”

He snickered, turned the cutlery in his fingers to regard it intently as red soup trickled down into the bowl.

“I did kill a man with a spoon once,” he deadpanned. “After he stabbed me with it.”

***

Lucy had been dozing fitfully against the damp stones in her back, as the sound of creaking wood snapped her out of another nightmare.

Jolting into an upright position, she instinctively braced herself against anything coming into her direction.

She had not expected it to be a human body.

With a startled yell, she shoved against the heavy warmth. But whoever had stumbled upon her crouched frame was up on their knees in seconds. And she stared into the icy blue of Wyatt’s eyes.

All words died on her tongue as she leaped forward and threw her arms around his shoulders.

“Oh god, Wyatt – Oh god –”

It took her some time until she finally composed herself enough to let go off his familiar warmth.

Still sniffling, Lucy rubbed the cloth of her tunic over her face and steadied herself with a deep breath.

As she did, he told her about his side of their frenzied escape. That he’d lost her in the tumult. That he’d actually made it outside, in the hope that she had managed to do so herself. That he’d searched the neighboring area for any sign of her – or Rufus and Jiya. And that, without any success in his search, he had short-circuited and tried to get back into the palace at night. It wasn’t like there had been any other choice. Going back to the Lifeboat alone without his team or any accomplishment in their task was beyond all dispute.

And without their help, he’d gotten himself caught – and stabbed. Shallow enough for it not to be life threatening – if it did not get infected – but nevertheless, the pain in his right upper arm was searing.

Now, that they had finished tending to his wound by wrapping it with straps of his own clothing, they were sitting side by side in the quiet of their cell.

“What do you think is gonna happen now?” Inquired Wyatt lowly, shifting his position, his thigh brushing against her own as he did.

“I don’t know. I don’t speak Greek, but telling from the ire on Caesar’s face, he knew exactly who we – who I was. So either we’ll be executed straight away or they’ll try to question us.” She winced.

“Given that neither of us can answer, questioning might lead to execution just as well.”

Humming in understanding, Wyatt slowly bobbed his head beside her.

With a sigh Lucy allowed him to let him drape his healthy arm around her shoulder and pull her flush against his side. But the action spurred a sudden wave of mixed emotions to crash in.

“I think I’m falling in love with him.”

Her blurted confession came out of nowhere. Wyatt’s actions weren’t intimate at all. He was just offering friendly consolation and body warmth. Still. They weren’t exactly in a position to hug in tiny dark cell without sending her mind reeling at the tiniest touch. Especially after her epiphany in the dark of the forgone twenty-four hours.

After his initial freeze against her, unexpectedly, he chuckled. There wasn’t much joy in the sudden sound, but the reaction wasn’t as harsh or as repulsed as she had presumed it would be. For her sake, most likely.

“I think you might be the last one to realize that.”

She raised her head from his shoulder to glance at his face.

“Am I that obvious?” Or rather oblivious if she hadn’t accepted her own feelings for what they were?

“ _He was actually great_ ,” Wyatt parroted her words with a lopsided smirk. “ _He really came through._ You should hear yourself sometimes, Lucy, see your smile when you talk to or about him. Besides, I read the journal.”

“And you’re… okay with that?”

Now he _did_ pull a disgusted grimace. “Hell no. It literally gives me nasty nightmares. But there’s not much I can do about it, can I? Trying to talk some sense into you certainly rather worsened it. You’re all defensive.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You’ve got nothing to apologize for. I was the one messing things up.”

He vaguely waved his free hand between them both.

“Missed my chance, I guess. I just…”

She could read it in the creases manifesting on his brow, in the tightening of his jaw, that he was desperately searching for a nice way to formulate ‘I just wished you had picked someone else’. With a groan he leaned back. His head softly thudded back against the cool stone.

She narrowed her eyes, searching his expression.

“He isn’t just a rebound, Wyatt. You understand that, right?”

He considered that, his frown deepening.

“I do. I just don’t get why. Of all people. Hell, Mason would have been the better choice.”

She couldn’t help but snort at that, quickly covering her mouth with one hand before she dropped it back to her lap.

“Seriously. No. We’d drink ourselves into a stupor before it came to anything faintly romantic.”

“You seem to develop a type, though.”

This time it was Lucy frowning.

“No, I’m not. How are you two even remotely similar?”

Wyatt paused, smiled.

“We were broken until we met you.”

Three sets of quick but firm steps approaching from the corridor cut off any further chance to deepen the conversation.

***

Eyes closed, Flynn laid on the couch as comfortably as possible. Both feet sticking out over the armrest, he had one leg thrown over the other, haphazardly covered by a thin woolen sheet. He reveled in the silence.

Silence, in relative terms, if one ignored the constant low whirr of the ventilation system and machinery mixing into the monotonous thrum of the refrigerator just down the hall. An ambient noise he had rather quickly begun to associate with terms of ‘home’ and ‘safety’. It was, unquestionably, a distinct advancement from the occasional shouting, ominous screeching and banging, or howling alarms in prison.

While he still was locked in, he did enjoy living the bunker far more than he’d anticipated when he’d set his first step through the security door. For the first time in over four years he felt grounded. Not just because it was a safe house, but because he was surrounded by people that he did no longer expect to tackle him from behind or walk out on him at any minute. Even if some of them did not remember their foregone cooperation.

He certainly wasn’t a part of their strange little patchwork family – would never be, given the way he had threatened and hurt them – but it was most likely the closest thing to friendship he would ever gain.

A thud to his left cut off his musings and he blinked one eye open to find Amy by his side. Her hands on her hips, she huffed and blew a strand of dirty blond out of her eyes before she focused on him.

“What’s that?”

He unlaced his fingers and extracted one hand from his blanket to point on the large carton on the coffee table.

Quirking one brow, he observed her as she dived both hands into the carton with a giddy grin.

The next moment an assortment of wallpaper examples was thrown into his lap

“Hey-”

“Pick one.” She beamed. “But no burgundy!”

***

"Foreigners," began Cleopatra and her mighty voice resonated against the cold stone. Lucy's eyes boggled. Impossible. The two guards behind their queen seemed just as uneasy.  
  
"I was heralded of your coming.”  
  
"You-," spluttered Lucy, "You speak our language?"  
  
The queen's eyes narrowed with Lucy's stunned lack of respect. Nevertheless, she replied.  
  
"I was taught using it by the ambassador of your people. He also carried a warning. A warning that more would come of his kind. A group of... assassins who are after my blood. He spoke of their lies. Of the sharp tongue of a beautiful woman. And of their dangerous companions. What do you have to say to that?”  
  
Lucy shuddered as the queen’s searching eyes bore into her own. Oh heavens, this was Cleopatra. One of the smartest and most powerful women of this time. Educated, strong and seductive all the same. And already compromised by Rittenhouse as it seemed. Absolutely terrifying.  
  
"Your majesty, I can assure you, we mean no harm to you, your land and your people. We are travelers, explorers. Our only intention is to see, not to touch what belongs to others."

***

Flynn didn't argue about reasonableness with her as he smoothed another sheet of pastel blue wallpaper – he had surprised her with that one – to the wall. Amy did that discussion quite well all by herself.

"I mean, who knows how long we'll have to stay here. No harm done making it a bit more homey, right? I like the color by the way. Goes well with the concrete floor," She prattled as she slathered another paper with adhesive on the table beside him.

It was the way that she moved, that she chattered away, that betrayed her underlying tension. He had guessed it from their first proper conversation after his fever had broken two days ago and his assumption gained weight with every time she nonchalantly strolled into the room or ranted away about this and that just to fill the void around them. He wondered if it was his presence or the team’s, and therefore Lucy’s, continuing absence that bothered her more.

He couldn’t deny the persistently growing lump of worry in his stomach either. Four days and still no sign of the Lifeboat. But he relied on the team’s proficiency and spirit to pull through and come back healthy. They had to. He wouldn’t allow any other outcome. Still it was a weight upon his mind he could not shake off so easily.

So, as nonsensical as it was, redecorating the bunker kept his body and mind busy while he recovered. He’d grab himself a bucket of paint next and color the countless pipes and tubes along the wall in a slightly darker shade. For now, he was fully occupied with repapering around them, which proved to be quite the challenge.

He almost smirked at the sudden stop of Amy’s brush strokes behind him, as he began humming, then softly singing along with the radio blaring Elvis from the kitchen unit.

"When no one else can understand me  
When everything I do is wrong  
You give me love and consolation  
You give me hope to carry on…"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't hit me, Google Tanslator helped me with this one. Languages are not exactly my forte, so I'm happy enough I mastered German and English... :'D   
> Please feel free to correct me if you spot any errors. This entire fic is not beta'd.
> 
> The song Flynn is humming is 'The Wonder of You' (Elvis Presley) for anyone interested. :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, sorry for the delay! The last few weeks have been rather busy. So will be the next three. I hope I'll be able to find some time to write, but chapters won't be posted as regularly as until now. Still, I'm on it. Part three of 'Nobody is expendable' is in the making. There will be some devastating revelations, angst and pain, but we'll get to the happy end. Eventually. :D
> 
> Have some kisses and cuddles for now.

"Say, Amy," Flynn began conversationally as he admired their handiwork.  
"Did your mother ever smoke?"

If he was stuck here while nursing his cold, he could at least make himself useful to clear a few things up. One of them being the circumstances of Amy’s sudden reappearance.

Amy, who had angled her fingers squarely like she was aiming to take a photo of the refurbished TV area, pursed her lips, then nodded.  
  
"Yeah. But only briefly. For a month or so. She told me she kind of started it to impress my father. But both witnessed a rather gruesome death, lung cancer related, in a restaurant, spitting blood and such - it was the night he wanted to propose to her. He scratched it apparently. Instead he proposed they'd quit smoking together. And they actually pulled it through. Once they made that work, they eventually married."  
  
Thoughtfully, Flynn picked up the remainders of their painting tools and sorted them back into the box to set them aside for the next bunker makeover.  
It explained Amy's existence to some extent. With Henry Wallace being around to father a child instead of marrying some Hindenburg survivor descendant and Carol not smoking, it made the absence of cancer possible while Amy still had been born.  
  
Knowing Lucy well enough, however, he guessed she would not have gone back taking chances. She would have saved the marriage of Henry and Carol – with everything included.

The random daunting cancer death therefore was without doubt Rittenhouse's work. But why go such lengths if they just could have dealt with it the way they always did? Eliminate the human hindrance.  
If anything, it only made Amy's rise from the non-existent more suspicious. Did they see any benefit in her being in the safe house? Had she been manipulated? Was she a spy? Or just some sort of distraction… or even leverage?

It was impossible to tell if or how Rittenhouse could have messed with her without gaining insight into the mission data or any kind of file. And he would hardly gain allowance for that in his current status. He didn’t miss the fact that Agent Christopher was constantly armed ever since he had set a foot into the bunker after their return. He even suspected she had searched through his room once he’d felt healthy enough to drag himself into the bathroom for a shower. When he’d come back, all seemed to be in order. The untouched cover of dust on Wyatt’s remaining novels, however, was broken in several places. She must have been in a hurry. He was wise enough not to protest.

"Why did you ask?"  
  
Amy’s question broke his musings and he halted, checked the lid of the paint tin again before placing it into the carton between paint brushes, rolls and a collection of assorted colors.  
  
"'Cause Lucy told me the two of you were tending to her at home before all of this started," he answered carefully. "Lung cancer."  
  
Once he was done Amy heaved the carton up with a huff to carry it back to the storage room.  
  
"I can-"  
  
"No, it’s alright, it’s not that heavy."  
She flashed him a smile.  
"I really don't know what's worse."  
  
He followed her into the corridor, ready to give her a hand, but she seemed quite fine. In fact, the weight of several unused paint buckets didn’t seem to cause her much trouble at all. What had Lucy told him? Karate. Amy was a karate black belt. Right.  
  
"A terminally sick mother or an evil one that leads some vile cult to take over the world?"  
  
He raised a brow, opened the door for her to slip through and lift the box onto a growing pile of similar ones.  
"I honestly don’t have an answer to that.”  
  
"I thought the first one. I mean, the other way you can just pretend to be fine when she dies in the process."  
While her answer obviously was meant to be uncaring, sneering even, given the fake lighthearted tone of her voice, he could hear the strain beneath.

***

They had managed. Just in time, but they had managed. Maybe it was Lucy’s argumentative powers, her finesse in eloquence, maybe it was nothing but Wyatt’s boyish charms – but they had succeeded in convincing Cleopatra of Rittenhouse’s malevolent intentions.

She had declined the organization’s compelling offerings of future knowledge in favor of her people’s safety. And Lucy was more than convicted that the woman was indeed one of the smartest and most remarkable individuals she had ever encountered throughout their travels within history.

So, it was most honorable when Cleopatra took her aside to offer her a place as her consultant. And Lucy couldn’t help but actually imagine it, for just a second. Of course, it had never been a realistic option to pick. She had a war to win alongside her team. She had to end it. All of this. She didn't belong here in the least. For several reasons. When she told the queen and most politely declined the generous proposal, there was a flicker of recognition in her ever-attentive eyes.

“I wish you all well on your way back,” she said knowingly, “bid my greetings to whoever is waiting for you once you return to your homeland.”

***

On the fifth day after Lucy’s departure, Flynn almost felt himself again. No more sniffling, no more coughing and no lingering headache. At least none related to sickness. For the last two nights he had barely slept. Rather passed out, sprawled across his cot, the book he kept himself busy with limply dropping from his hands.

When he blinked his eyes open around eight in the morning, he felt neither rested, nor relaxed. The opposite actually. For there was no sign of the Lifeboat still. When Amy paid him a visit after his shower, he shooed her away, thoroughly startling her with a roughness he had not displayed before. But he couldn’t help it. As long as he was stuck in the bunker with nothing to do but waiting for the team to return, his mood wasn’t particularly cheery. Except for books, there wasn’t much distraction either. Watching TV only had him end up brooding. Borrowing Wyatt’s weights and exercising only occupied him for a few hours at max. Cooking? For whom? Denise and Connor weren’t all too eager to spend time with him, let alone eat what he prepared.

To say he was in a nasty mood, once Amy tried to peek in on him again over the course of the afternoon, was an understatement. To his distress, she wasn’t deterred by his apparent display of snarkiness. If anything, it only seemed to fuel her determination to raise his spirits.

And before he knew it, she had managed to drag him back to the common area and he found himself on the couch, listlessly whipping a wiimote once in a while to hit a virtual tennis ball. The loss of his first match, however, irked him enough to put a little more effort into his second try…

Connor almost stopped dead in his tracks when he first witnessed the noise emitted from the common area. Was that Amy crowing something unintelligible? A yelp. A scream that conveyed utter dismay. And a vicious growl.

He was about to cry for Denise’s help, when laughter and a yell of victory drowned out the rest. _What the hell?_

Curiosity getting the better of him, he took a few more cautious steps and peeked into the room.

What played out in front of his eyes almost had him drop his empty coffee cup.

“I beat you! HA!”

Amy jabbed her controller in Flynn’s direction like an epee. “Twice now!”

Her opponent snatched for it, but she pulled her hand away with a giggle.

“Rematch,” he demanded, baring his teeth as his lips curled back into a dogged sneer.

“Sorry, honey, losing thrice? Can you really bear that?” She teased, but as she spoke, she already pushed the buttons to start another match of tennis.

“Won’t come to that.”

***

When the Lifeboat’s whirring slowed and the familiar nausea settled within her stomach, Lucy was glad. Despite the bruises scattering her body from being dragged through the palace. Despite the terror of being locked into a tiny dark cell for days. Despite the, thankfully, shallow stab wound Wyatt carried home from his encounter with the guard’s spears. She was glad they had all made it back in one piece, that Jiya and Rufus still held each other in their arms when they stepped out though the hatch, that they had successfully thwarted Rittenhouse’s plan to implant their psychotic ideology into ancient royalty.

And finally, even if it was just her own tiny delight, because she had been granted the opportunity to meet a woman that had fascinated her ever since she had devoured her first children’s history picture books beneath her blanket with a flashlight late at night. 

When she ducked out through the hatch, those thoughts were cut short as she joined in on the general bafflement. For a minute, the horror and wonders of their mission were shoved aside.

“You’ve redecorated,” stated Rufus flatly, then scrunched up his face. “I don’t like it.”

He earned a chortle from Jiya, as he, unbeknownst to Lucy, spoke nerd.

“It’s… a bit odd,” Lucy offered herself, following the team down the stairs, perplexedly staring at the walls covered in hues of blue.

“The contrast, I mean. Of apocalyptic military bunker and… cozy living room.”

If anything, Amy’s smile beamed even brighter as she rocked forth and back on her feet, already waiting to greet them.

“As long as it _is_ cozy, I’m all satisfied.”

“It was even odder,” interjected Connor as he stepped down from the control desk, “to see Little Red Riding Hood,” he waved his hand in Amy’s direction, “and the Big Bad Wolf wallpaper it together – howling to Elvis as they did.”

“As long as he didn’t swallow anybody’s grandmother, I’m fine with it,” snickered Rufus. “Disturbed, but fine.”

“Speaking of it,” began Lucy, as the entire group moved from the hangar into the common area. “Where is he?”

“In your room,” said Amy. "He’s a lot better, fever’s gone down, but still groggy. Hasn’t slept much, I guess, all too worried about you lot.”

She smirked at several raised brows.

“Probably asleep now, given he hasn’t made his stealthy entry yet.”

Hearing that, Lucy released a tense breath. Against all odds, the two of them seemed to have gotten along better than she had anticipated.

“That’s… That’s good. Thank you.”

The brief silence that ensued after, however, almost had her wishing the ground would split open and swallow her whole. It lingered heavy in the air, the common hunch that _something_ was going on between them. Whatever it was. Wyatt’s lopsided sneer did not help the matter.

***

The debriefing, to Lucy’s relief, was short and crisp and she already was about to jump up and claim the shower – she had earned it after spending days in a prison cell, hadn’t she? – but Connor threw his hands up to stop the team from scattering all too soon.

“Hey, we’re not done yet!”

Settling back into her chair, Lucy eyed him with curiosity.

“While you guys were off to Egypt, we haven’t been idle.” He grinned, nervously, but still satisfied. After exchanging a glance with Agent Christopher and gaining her nod as permission, he went on speaking with growing excitement.

“I went thought the clutter you brought back from Emma’s hut. And, surprise, I managed to find some encoded data!”

Infected by his enthusiasm, Jiya leant in.

“You think it might be useful?”

“Oh, I do! I haven’t broken the encryption, yet, but it sure seems as if I’ve stumbled over something that’s worth to be thoroughly hidden. And now that you’re back,” he indicated both, Rufus and Jiya, “you’re very welcome to join me and find out.”

The couple exchanged a determined glance and off they were with Connor to hunt for information. Lucy watched them hurry away with a heavy mixture of emotions settling low in her guts. Whatever it was the three of them would uncover - which she was certain of – it would reveal some more of Rittenhouse’s atrocious wheeling and dealing. And as much as she needed to learn more, to step in their way and take them out, she was terribly frightened of what they would unearth next…

She excused herself then, eager to wash away the remains of her journey. And to face another thing that scared her as much as it excited her. With a deep breath, she tucked the fear away and focused on her excitement solely.

***

Lucy couldn't help feeling utterly overwhelmed as she lowered herself onto the bed beside Flynn’s sleeping form only about an hour later. It all came back the instant she gazed at his calm face, crashing in like a wave against the dyke, frothing, angry.

All that fear she had been overcome with, alone in her cell. And the desperate wish to crawl back into the safety of his warm embrace. To draw strength from his steadiness in their war-ravaged life.

Lately it had become so disturbingly easy to shrug off fear and hatred like an old coat once she stepped out of the Lifeboat. An instinctive safe mechanism, shielding the fragile parts of her soul against despair in the wake of their battle.

She traded overthinking for a cocoon of indifference, of grey calmness in between thunderstorms. In their hideout, she preferred clinical professionalism, logic over emotion to keep herself from spiraling. She couldn’t really manage that today. Could not forget how she’d longed for his presence.  
  
Squeezing her eyes shut, she bit into her wrist to suppress the sob that bubbled up her throat.  
Steadily she took a deep breath through her nose and released it with a shudder.  
Only then she found her courage to act on her emotions. To reach out.  
  
Tentatively she cradled his jaw in her palm. He stirred underneath her touch, but his eyes remained closed. His breath evened out once more.  
It seemed so wrong to her to disturb him when he was so peaceful. So blissfully unaware of the evil all around them.  
  
Still, she could not prevent herself from carrying on with her careful exploration of his serene expression. It was a picture worth to preserve into her memory. With a faint smile, she began to map out his face. Blearily he blinked one eye open, caught her watery gaze in the dim light of their room.

"Lucy," he muttered, his voice heavy with sleep. Dazed, still, she noticed, as he had not yet fully realized that she was back home.  
"What're you doin'?"

"Memorizing," she responded, soothingly running her fingers over the creases appearing on his forehead.  
"Just relax."

He regarded her, gaze hazy, his eyes hooded and not yet willing to give up on sleep. For a few deep breaths, he seemed to question her intentions. - Or if he was actually awake or still dreaming. Then he gave in with a soft sigh and the lines of worry evened out.  
  
She traced his face with the pads of her fingers, committing it to memory. Every line. Every edge and angle. Every single detail.

She began with his hairline, slowly trailed her fingertips along his roots and down to his temples.

She caressed his dark brows, lightly stroking over their softness. _The right one’s a bit denser_ ; she observed and trailed her thumbs softly down the bridge of his nose.

First to its pointy tip, earning a confused sniffle, and from there to its sides, then over his prominent cheekbones to the gruff hair of his sideburns.

His eyes fluttered closed under her feathery touch and she watched him relax into her gentle exploration.  
She followed the curve of his ears and slowly stroked her fingers along his jaw to his chin.

A faint smile skittered over her lips as he twitched under her scrutiny. It tickled him, she realized. She tried again, smile widening, as she was rewarded by another shiver.

The skin of his jaw felt scratchy under her soft pads. Evidence of a growing stubble. Resuming her exploration, she resisted the growing temptation to lean in and nuzzle against it.

Instead she moved on. Carefully watching, drinking in his response, she trailed her right thumb over the soft skin of his lips. Starting on the corner, she followed the line of his lower lip to the middle, saw him open his mouth to her touch, felt his warm breath on her skin.

She laughed, quietly, encouraging him to act. And she felt, saw, memorized him pressing one innocent kiss to the pad of her thumb.

All of a sudden, he snapped his eyes open, swiped his tongue out and licked her pad.

Caught off guard, she pulled her hand away, giggling, and smudged the wetness against his cheek.

Grunting he caught her wrist and used the back of his free hand to rub his own saliva off his skin.

Her heart stuttered to a stop and then accelerated its pace promptly, as she was caught in the smoldering intensity of his unwavering gaze.

A slight pull of his hand on her wrist was enough for her to let go. Closing her eyes, she leaned in and kissed him. Not nearly as rattled as on Titanic. But just as desperate. Why had she held back since then?

“I’m glad you’re back safely,” he hummed against her lips and she felt him weave nimble fingers into her hair, his nails tenderly scraping against her scalp. Not enough to hurt, just enough to have her shudder against his body. “You got me worried.”

Helplessly smiling into his kiss, she stroked back his tousled bangs. They were getting longer. He’d need a haircut soon, she noted, and leaned her forehead against his.

“You have no idea how glad I am to be…”

Tilting his head and brushing his nose against hers he indicated her to make some room. Curious and a little crestfallen by his sudden change of heart, she followed his silent request and backed away. Just to see him lift the blanket enough for her to crawl in.

“And to what do I owe this sudden shower of affection, hm?” He inquired, his now very awake and attentive gaze never leaving hers. He was, with no doubt, worried, curious about the mission. But he withheld his questions, focused solely on her unexpected actions instead.

Her heart fluttered to the emotions she read within his gorgeous green eyes. A swirling flood of adoration poured from him, barely held back behind a crumbling dam of careful hesitance. That desperate fight between longing and restraint, that she was now so eager to settle.

“Cleopatra,” she murmured and followed his invitation into the warmth of his embrace.

“Looks like I’ll have to go back and convey my most profound thanks one day.”

Within a heartbeat he was above her, his face so close, almost touching. And she felt so safe with him. So loved. Whatever remaining spark of doubt had been nestled deep within her heart dissipated at once as he brushed his lips against the shell of her ear and murmured her name, wondering and yearning to gain her consent for anything that was to come. Almost waiting for her to give him an order, a reason to go on. Or to push him away.

“Garcia,” she whispered and felt him tense against her body, the muscle of his shoulders going rigid under her touch. Biting her lip, she nuzzled her nose against his neck. She kissed his jaw and slipped her hands beneath the short sleeves of his shirt, massaging her fingers tenderly against heated skin. And he melted into her touch.


End file.
